


All Dogs Have to Go Somewhere

by OpalPenWriter



Series: All Dogs Have to Go Somewhere [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cute Marco, Death of a Parent, Depressed Marco, Eren being a little shit, Fluff, Heavy Drinking, Jean just being Jean, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Marco being the adorable little thing he is, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Violence, Mild Angst, Mild Language, Mind the Tags, Minor Character Death, Not necessarily a happy ending, Not really a bad ending either, OC Character Death, Older Jean, Reiner and Bertholdt coming pseudo parents, Romance, Sexual Content, Small situation of Violence, Subject to add more tags as chapters are posted, Ups and downs of a relationship, borderline domestic abuse, brief mention of Annie, but not graphic mentions of violence, child abuser is a parent, flashback-dreams, heh?, mentions of child abuse, small scenes of child abuse, spoilers in tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalPenWriter/pseuds/OpalPenWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small story in which Jean attempts to combat an empty feeling by getting a pet. A dog to be more specific, and thus leads to him meeting the best thing that has ever happened to him: Marco Bodt. They will go through their ups and downs, and only time can actually tell if Jean can finally cure his loneliness, or if his internal demons drive Marco away forever. Luckily enough, Jean has wonderful people in his life (And annoying people) to help him, even if he can't help himself when he is at the bottom of a bottle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Began With Loneliness (Introduction)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [animealli73](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=animealli73).



It was not that Jean Kirschstein's life was a bad one. It was actually very much the opposite. By far, there were people who would kill to be in the position he was in. Working as senior accountant at TitanneCorp at the tender age of 26, Jean was set in a life of peace and ease. He was able to enjoy some extra luxuries in life, such as a spacious house, two cars and even a trip or two to the Netherlands. And even after all this, he still had enough money to be comfortable, but surely not enough to cause his head to inflate more than it already had in the past couple of years.

 

His home was situated just at the base of some named mountain that marked the end of city limits and the beginnings of a national park. He had a nice view when fall came around, and even winter came with its perks living so close to a national park. It was large, well equipped for a man like Jean, yet at the same time, it felt so damn empty. There was no life inside his house. There was only material possessions which could not give him comfort to him when he went on downward spirals.

 

Everything felt so empty recently, and Jean had mused on that thought many times before as he sat on his couch, feet tucked underneath him and a whiskey glass tucked in his hand. He came home every day to an empty house. There was nothing here to greet him. Only silence; A reminder of how alone he actually was.

 

Many of his co-workers had family, roommates even, that they were able to return home to and receive some kind of reprieve from the outside world. Jean did not. The only thing that gave him any kind of resemblance of warmth was the bottles of liquor he stashed around the house like a pack rat. Jean had dealt with this loneliness before. It crept into his conscious every now and then, pushing him to the bottom of the bottle where he would almost drown before resurfacing into a bland state of surviving until the next time the bottle tempted him again.

 

So, one day on a whim, Jean decided he would get a dog. Dogs were supposed to be man’s best friend. Loyal, loving and smart. A dog would surely greet him with a happy bark and a tail wag every day when Jean opened the door. A dog would surely cure his loneliness and give him a friend.

 

So Jean went to a pet store, the closest one that his phone directed him to, and randomly picked out a puppy. He should have took the strange look the clerks gave him as a warning as he paid for the dog, went through the whole “how to properly care for” speech and a few items like a leash and toys. A dog house would have to wait.

 

The thing looked like an overly fluffy husky, with a pushed back face and a white speckling across his chest, breaking up the black coat there. Jean had been told that it was “a diluted breed of the Alaskan Malamute.” in which Jean translated as “A type of husky or something. I dunno.”

 

The first night he had the mutt, things had been fine. He had dubbed it “Nikio” and the tiny terror was still too small to do any kind of damage. So Jean let it run around for a bit before leaving food and water out and heading to bed. He’d give it time to adjust to the house. When he woke up the next morning to ready himself for work, the trash was turned over and Jean had the pleasure of stepping into a little surprise Nikio left in the hallway. Yet, those were still little things that dogs just did when they were young. Thinking nothing of it, he cleaned up the mess and went to work. Oh, what little did he really know about dogs.

 

When he came home later that day, after a long meeting and crunching numbers into an impossible budget, all Jean wanted to do was curl up on his couch and have a nice chat with Jose, or maybe Jack tonight.

 

Yet, as he opened the door and tucked his things aside, he noticed little pieces of fabric and stuffing and somehow knew already what had happened. He followed the trail left by his little terror, and sure enough his beloved couch, was torn to shreds. The ambered eyed man was not necessarily mad, but confused as well as to how a pint-sized little shit could make holes bigger than himself. he later found Nikio hiding in the bathtub, like the thing knew it had done something wrong.

 

The squirrel had been the last straw though, and even now Jean still rocks his brain on how the Nikio, being so small still, got outside, killed a squirrel and brought the damn thing back in and placed it on his bed. He realized that maybe this was Nikio’s gift to him for being an owner, but damn it, those were good sheets that Jean had just bought, and while he didn’t mind certain stains, blood was not one of those stains.

 

So Jean figured that maybe he needed a dog sitter. Someone who could manage Nikio until he got old enough or smart enough to just sit on the brand new couch until Jean got home. How hard could it be to find a dog sitter? People were eager to make quick tax free cash anyway.

 

He called around, inquiring about prices and times, and in total, Jean went through about four dog sitters in a week. Jean suggested to one of his co-workers that he should write to Ripley’s.

 

Obviously it was hopeless. Just like Jean himself, it was hopeless. He should have known better than to think that he could fix something so deeply rooted in himself with a damn dog. It seemed to only make things worse and cause property damage that was a pain in the ass to fix. No dog sitter he hired would stay after the first day, and the last one was just a damn creep to begin with.

 

The dog was a nuisance, too clingy and too energetic. And while these were things that were missing from his home (and his life), it was safe to assume that Nikio was just over correcting the problem. He wanted and needed attention, which was something Jean was not prepared to give. The dog was supposed to help him, not the other way around.

 

And if he was perfectly honest with himself, he felt bad for Nikio. He was making that dog suffer by being alone all day or staying with some stranger until Jean had time for him. What kind of man was he, to make another soul suffer? To make Nikio wait long hours before he even saw Jean at the end of the day. Somewhere in the back crevices of his mind, he realized that he would be like his father.

 

Running a hand through his two-toned hair, Jean had begun his long journey back home, stumbling and bumping into objects that otherwise, could not move. He had not been to a bar in a long time, having took to drowning away his sorrows at home, but Nikio was at home, and he didn’t want the dog to see him like this.

 

A disheveled mess of patheticness and self pity. Beer staining his tan polo shirt and the remnants of rum rolling off his tongue. Stopping for a moment to lean against a light post and collect his bearings, Jean took a moment to decide that tomorrow he would give Nikio to a better owner. One that could take far better care of him than Jean ever could.

 

One that wouldn’t fail at giving Nikio actual love and attention and the most important; a friend. Nodding once, he stepped forward, ready to hike the rest of the way home, when his sense of balance finally left him completely. Once he had removed himself from the pole, it only took two seconds before the senior accountant was flat on his face, kissing the concrete like they were long lost lovers.

 

Technically, he and the sidewalk had been in situations like this before, but that was neither here nor there. Mixing with the bitter taste of rum was the metalic taste of blood. That is exactly what Jean needed. A busted lip to go along with such a foul evening. Grumbling angrily, cursing and swearing at both himself and gravity, he steady himself, trying his best to stand without another fall.

 

That is when he saw the newspaper, lying on the ground. It had obviously been rained on, and left to disintegrate. It had been left flipped to that little suspicious page of “help wanted” and “I’ll sale you this!” ads that were conveniently left in the back.

 

What struck him the most was the smiling face. Out of all the jumbled words and pictures, Jean’s eyes, crossed as they were, caught a bright smile in the top corner of the paper. There was not much detail left of the picture situated above a big bold title that read “Baby Sitter.” Even still, that smile stood out like a neon sign. It was like this kid was there, on the concrete, smiling up at Jean in a way that Jean had not been smiled at since the passing of his mother. “Huh.” Jean murmured, trying to focus his vision and reached for the newspaper. “Babysitter..” he muttered in a drunken stupor, still sitting on the sidewalk.

 

“Wonder if dogs count-”


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thus, two opposite forces finally meet for the first time, and all Marco can do is mispronounce Jean’s last name. Jean thinks he’s probably doing it on purpose. Marco knows he is doing it on purpose.

Hidden somewhere underneath piles of comforters and pillows, a freckled bodied young man was cocooned in warmth, taking advantage of having Friday off and sleeping in. All week he had worked and now his body could finally rest. Marco had already planned out the day. Sleeping till noon, wake up and maybe grab some take out before finishing up some course work online and ending the day with a little personal movie night, maybe even a bit of work on one of the canvases. Marco enjoyed days like this. Days in which he could breath and relax and enjoy life, because most other days, he was taking care of screaming and bratty kids for the smallest amount of payment possible.

 

Right now, all he needed to worry about was keeping the pesky November cold from reaching him. Rolling over, he subconsciously tried to tune out some kind of annoying little tone he kept hearing. It oddly enough sounded like his dorky little Zelda Ringtone.

 

It was his dorky little Zelda Ringtone. Humming and buzzing within the confines of his blankets. “Tartar Sauce” the brunette groaned, rolling over once, twice and then three times trying to find his phone. Finally relenting, he sat up and pushed the covers to the side, exposing himself to the cold. “Aha!” he cheered in his small victory and slide his thumb across the screen to answer his phone.

 

“Marco Bodt’s babysitting service. Marco Bodt speaking” he said with his best cheerful and professional voice he could muster up at 11:00 A.M.

 

“Uh, yeah…uh, you watch kids right?” a tired voice gruffed through the line. In the background, Marco could hear the shuffling of papers and other muttered voices. Shaking his head, Marco couldn’t help but smile more at such a stupid question.

 

“Of course, it is Marco Bodt’s babysitting service sir” he replied, still using his cheery and business like voice. Across the line, he could hear a tired and dead panned chuckle before the man continued.

 

“yeah..of course..stupid question. My name is Jean Kirschtein. And I was looking for someone to watch Nikio” the man said, rubbing his temples as he sat at his desk, trying to ignore his co-worker as he through paper balls at his forehead. Eren could be such an ass sometimes. “Ya see I just got him and I just don’t really have the time to watch him but I don’t want to get rid of him-”

 

Cocking an eyebrow, Marco’s face turned from happy to confused.

 

“Anyway. I’m rambling. Look. I just need someone to watch him while I am at work so he doesn’t tear up my couch or eat another squirrel.”

 

“Excuse me sir?’ Marco interjected suddenly, “But did you say a squirrel?” he inquired, finally finding his way off the bed and walking towards the thermostat to turn the heat up. Marco had dealt with some strange parents and even stranger kids, but squirrels seemed to be in a different league.

Kicking the thermostat up to seventy-five, he pulled the batman boxers down over his thighs, attempting to re-warm his body.

 

“Look. Nikio is a dog-”

 

“I don’t do dogs. I do babies Mr.Kirkenshimire”

 

“Kirschtein. And look. Dogs are easier than kids right? They don’t talk. They don’t ask ‘why” six billion damn times. All you gotta do is feed it, talk to it and just keep it from destroying the couch again.”

 

“Listen Kirkenstki-”

 

“Kirschstein! I’ll pay you double. Just please-…watch my dog” Jean didn’t know why he was being so desperate about this. There were probably better qualified people who could do the job for far less than double. All Jean could remember though was that smile, and it felt nice to finally hear a voice to that smile. To know that the the voice matched the same shining velocity of that smile.

 

Not that Jean cared, the kid just seemed qualified, but he couldn’t find any other valid reason why he was begging this Mr.Bodt to watch a mischievous little dog.

 

“How about we just..do a trial run or something alright? See how things go. I don’t really baby sit dogs-” Marco explained, using hand motions as if Jean could see them through the phone.

 

——

 

It had been decided that Marco would watch Nikio the next day, Saturday. Jean had been called into work for a meeting and that would give time for Marco to get used to Nikio and see if this was a situation that could be permanent.

 

Marco showed up at the top of the hour, and Jean was gone by thirty minutes after eight. As he slid into his car and drove away, he noticed Nikio in one of the large windows, scratching and, what Jean presumed, whining. Somewhere deep inside Jean, it was a very nice feeling to be missed.

 

The meeting lasted up till five o’clock, and after listening to Mr. Smith talk non-stop about budgets, crunching numbers and balancing the accounts in the favor of TitanneCorp, Jean was ready to go home and drink away the rest of day.

 

Until he realized that Marco was there, on his couch, sleeping with his dog. The accountant had entered the door, slipping his shoes off and placing his things on the table in the hallway. All was quiet in the house and that led him to search out the baby sitter and his dog. He had found them, curled up together on the couch, Marco snoring slightly as Nikio had his snout tucked under the boy’s chin. Leaning against the door frame, Jean took this chance to be a total creeper.

 

Marco was a nice looking boy, sweet and kind looking even when he was sleeping. He looked so comfortable on the couch, even with a six-month old Malamute laying on him like a blanket. In this quiet moment, Jean didn’t feel lonely. He didn’t feel warm or fuzzy either. It was a sort of numb feeling. Even dazed, if Jean could describe it like that.

 

Yet it did not last long, because it was like Nikio finally caught Jean’s scent and lifted his head, tail wagging and hot breath running across Marco’s face before the puppy bolted from atop the human to greet his master with jumps, licks and gracious barks.

 

This seemed to jolt Marco awake, chocolate brown eyes opening to meet Jean’s own golden ones. “Morning sleeping beauty” Jean teased as he wiggled his eyebrows before he thought how weird that actually looked.

 

“I highly doubt it’s still morning” the brunette replied as he stretched, shirt lifting to reveal a strip of skin and a glimpse of dark boxers just above his jeans.

 

“I guess you didn’t really have any trouble then, with little shit here” Jean smirked, a toothy grin as he patted Nikio’s head. Marco simply gave him a pointed look, never one to like such foul language, and began to gather his things.

 

“I did not. He was actually kind of fun. We played a little bit in the back yard. I gave him some lunch and we took a nap together. I wouldn’t mind doing this everyday. You might not have convinced me well over the phone, but Nikio here is a sweetheart and I would love to have his company everyday” Marco cooed as he made little kissy faces at the dog.

 

“Thats great. So I guess I’ll see you Monday right? We’ll work out a pay arrangement. And other details. Right now I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day.” Jean confessed, and as if he needed more proof, his stomach began to protest. “Um…you wanna stay? I’m pretty damn good at cooking up some take out” Jean suggested as he moved around the couch and into the open kitchen.

 

Marco was not the one to turn down food, especially if it was offered. If he played his cards right, maybe he could get paid and fed everyday. Mr.Krackenwagen seemed like a decent guy for the most part. Even if he came off a bit too strong, a bit too brash and sometimes a bit too awkward. Jean was a good guy, Marco just knew. “Sure. Just. Not chinese. Me and chinese have bad history” Marco chuckled.

 

——

 

“So, since you are going to be staying in my house while I am gone, tell me a bit about yourself” Jean said as they sat at the glass dining room table, feeding their faces with trays and trays of mexican food. Jean hoarding the rice on his side of the table while Marco was content on finishing up his quesadillas. Looking up with cheeks full of food, Marco shrugged and took a sip (gulp) of his drink before swallowing and taking in air.

 

“Not much of me to get to know” he said, that infectious smile still on his face, and Jean couldn’t help but noticed a stray spot of cheese hiding among the freckles on Marco’s face. “I’m going to college.Not like..the physical college, but online college.”

 

“What for?”

 

“I want to teach. And not just teach anything. I wanna teach art” Marco chirped, as if this was the best career in the world. However, instead of criticizing the other, Jean decided to humor him.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because what in this earth is better than educating kids on how to create. How to inspire. How to let the imagination run wild and be your own person. To turn the ordinary into the extraordinary. To be the only thing that stands between a child gaining talent and wasting it.” came the reply, and Jean had never heard someone be so passionate about something in his entire life.

 

“So why are you taking online classes? Don’t you need..like..hands on experience or some shit like that?” Jean asked, taking a sip of his brandy.

 

“I couldn’t go to college after high school” and at this, Marco’s bright smile dimmed and faltered, but only slightly. As if Marco knew how to hide anything other than happiness with happiness. “My dad needed me. I had to take care of him, so college had to wait. He and my mother had been sick for a while. He was the last to go. Early this year on my 19th birthday.”

 

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn't have asked.” Jean murmured, looking away from the other. “Oh no, its okay. It hurts, but it only hurts more if I let it build inside of me. I’ve always been told that if you are able to talk about it. It helps. It helps a lot” the brunette interjected.

 

“I suppose” came Jean’s whispered reply.

 

“So are you living on campus?” Jean asked, attempting to change the subject. “You ask stupid questions” Marco snickered as he took a bite of his quesadilla. Jean looked at the younger man like the other had stabbed him in the thigh before he realized what he asked. He went to apologize but Marco shook his head, holding up a hand to stop the other from speaking.

 

“Its a normal question. While some students do. I don’t. I live in a apartment right now.”

 

“On a baby sitter’s salary?” Jean inquired, cocking his head to the side, flipping a piece of chicken to the pouting and begging Nikio that sat just under the table.

 

“Not entirely. When my parents died they left a small inheritance. That right now is paying my apartment bills while these odd jobs pay for college. Of course, my inheritance runs out some time in December.” Marco explained, sitting back in his chair and patting his stomach. “This was good. Thank you Mr.Krabapple”

 

“I’m not even going to correct you at this point.” Jean responded, finishing up his liquor before going to pour himself another glass.

 

Time flew and before either male knew it, it was late, almost ten at night and Marco needed to get home. The brunette gathered what little he had brought with him; A jacket, a book to read and tiny sketch pad before bidding Jean a good night and a promise to see the other bright and early on Monday morning.

 

When Marco left, that lonely feeling crept back into Jean. It was not as bad now, with Nikio following him around constantly and giving Jean those crooked little dog smiles, yet now there was just this large amount of metaphorical space that Marco had taken up that was empty now.

 

It felt strange. No single person had ever had an effect on him like this, especially at first meeting the other. He had only know Marco for a couple of hours, and yet it felt like he had know Marco forever.

 

Jean chided himself, reminding himself he indeed had only known Marco for a short time and to not let his own problems create tension between him and Marco.

 

There was not much left to do now but take a shower, drink the last of the brandy in the bottle before heading to bed. And he laid there for a while in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Nikio whine downstairs and scratch at the dog gate.

 

Jean decided that Nikio could sleep with him tonight.

 

——

 

Marco was still up, far later than he should be, sifting through the bills and trying to balance out his paychecks. The Williamsons’ check would pay for his Light Bill. The Kruegers’ check would be used for the Water Bill.

 

Yet tonight, Marco kept losing count. he miscounted, couldn't think of the next number or went completely blank. The odd Mr.Kirschtein kept creeping into his mind, and Marco didn’t know why. He had just met the man today, but there was just something about him.

 

The way that Mr.Kirschtein chuckled or laugh. It was not one of happiness or delight, his laugh sounded bitter and cold. His eyes, a color of molten gold, were hard like steel. The man was guarded, and for some odd reason or another, Marco found himself wondering why.

 

Deciding that he was not going to get much else done, the freckled man stood and moved to his bedroom, shedding clothes and picking up a pair of boxers off the floor to wear to bed. He duly noted that his apartment felt so small and constricted compared to Mr.Kirschtein’s house, which was so wide, open and beautiful. As Marco laid his head down on his pillow, he wondered if Jean had been married or not.


	3. The Day at Trost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of weeks pass and Jean finds himself needing Marco more than he is willing to admit. Somehow, this leads to a day at the park. Ironically enough, Jean has never really been inside the National Park that is just a few blocks from his house.

A couple of weeks had went by already and Marco settled into the routine just about as well as Jean did. Marco showed up in the mornings, and left by late evenings after dinner. Nikio was getting bigger, only adding to the destruction the dog could create when left alone for more than a few hours, and the November cold was subsiding to make room for the December frost, the only thing that was constant for the time being was Marco Bodt in Jean’s house.

 

It was different for Jean, having someone there constantly when he came home. Someone to greet him with a freckled smile and a query on how his day went. Marco just fit so well into his home, his living room and his kitchen. Nikio took to him too, whining and whimpering when Marco finally had to leave, only stopping when Jean allowed him on the bed to sleep. Jean had finally relented completely, not even putting up a fight when Nikio climbed the stairs with him to go to bed.

 

Then the strangest thing started to happen and Jean blatantly ignored the tingly feeling it gave him. . 

 

Marco had actually started making dinner for Jean one night, which was a nice and sudden surprise the first time Jean came home. After a long day at work, grinding numbers together under the watchful eye of Mr.Smith’s Vice President, Jean was ready to have some take out dinner and call it a day. When he opened the door, he was hit by the familiar scent of food, but when he entered the kitchen, actual food was sitting on the table, spread out like it would be on the front of some magazine. Marco had even dug into his cabinets and used the blue china he had bought almost two years ago.

 

He had been living off of take-out for so long that he had forgotten what a home cooked meal looked like, let alone the amazing taste of it. Marco beamed the first time Jean ate something he cooked, telling the other that he hoped everything was okay. The freckled boy rambled on about not cooking for a while and Jean simply stuffed his face, half listening.

 

Marco began to inform Jean of his grievance with take-out, since he ate with Jean most days now, and wished once and a while that Jean would eat real food. Jean was not complaining, Marco was a decent chef. As Jean continued to fill his stomach with deliciousness, Marco continued to rant about how Jean hardly had anything in his fridge or cabinets that wasn’t spoiled.

 

“I guess I will have to let you go shopping then” Jean joked, pointing a loaded fork at the other. “Leave some cash here and I will” Marco rebuttal with an arch of an eyebrow.

 

And from there is snowballed. It went from Marco cooking dinner, to Marco shopping for food. It went from Marco shopping for food, to Marco simply shopping for the house.

 

Then Marco began cleaning the house and even doing laundry. Jean came home one day to find all the papers on his desk that he had been meaning to organize were neatly stacked or put away while his favorite pair of black boxers folded along with a multitude of other clothes Jean had yet to wash.

 

Marco had done all of those things, which Jean never asked Marco to do. The boy had taken it upon himself to become the housekeeper when Jean was away. When Jean had asked Marco about it, the brunette laughed and informed the other that he was working for that double pay. Jean had protested, but Marco simply bopped him on the nose with a wet oven mitt fresh from the washer and told Jean to shut up.

 

The only thing Marco wasn’t doing was sleeping with Jean. And when that thought had crossed his mind (more than once) Jean had to scold himself and repeat a chant that he was not in anyway attracted to Marco or men. Jean had too many one night stands to ever be attracted to men.

 

So one night, while the two were enjoying a well cooked dinner, it actually surprised Jean how angry he got when Marco had mentioned meeting up with an old friend the next day. Marco had brought up the subject when they had fell into a comfortable silence, simply letting the other know that he wouldn’t be free tomorrow because of it.

 

“So who’s the guy?” Jean asked, ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth in which he refused to call jealously, and stuffed some ravioli into his mouth.

 

“He’s an old friend from high school. I haven’t seen him since we graduated together couple of years ago. He called me the other day and we decided to spend some time together tomorrow, catch up” Marco beamed as he drank from his glass. He seemed genuinely happy.

 

And it did nothing to help Jean’s mood and he felt like he needed a drink. “You guys must have been very tight in high school” Jean commented, trying not to make it sound like an accusation.

 

“You could say that I guess, we dated on and off” Marco mused with a soft smile. “I didn’t realize you were gay”

 

“Does it bother you?” Marco asked, cocking a fine eyebrow. “Of course not, I had a hunch, but I just didn’t want to assume” Jean smirked as he sat back and ran a hand through the mousy brown portion of his hair.

 

“A hunch huh?” Marco smirked, and god Jean found something that he enjoyed more than Marco’s smile.

 

“Yeah, I hunch, just don’t try any moves on me. I don’t roll that way” Jean said, flicking some spare sauce across his plate.

 

“Trust me, if I ever try my moves on you, you’ll be rolling that way all day long” Marco chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

Chuckling, Jean simply shook his head and turned his attention to the begging Nikio, reaching his hand down and petting the dog.

 

The freckled face boy took the opportunity to chunk a stuffed ravioli at Jean’s face, and the night ended with the two of them painting the kitchen with red sauce and having to give Nikio a bath before Jean even let him near the bed.

 

The next day, Jean was restless, sitting with his back against his headboard as he tried to read away the day with some kind of novel that was sitting on his bookcase as a decoration. It was no use, because Jean would get three or four lines down before he began to think about what Marco was doing.

 

Who he might be doing, even though it felt like a irrational and ridiculous thought. Marco was an adult and whoever he fucked was none of Jean’s business. That did not stop him from reaching for the phone though.

 

Jean knew he was being selfish. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he also knew that Marco meeting someone else just didn’t set right for him. It was ridiculous and childish. Marco probably had many friends he knew, even past boyfriends that were none of Jean’s business at all.

 

Yet that still didn’t stop Jean from calling Marco around eleven O’clock and asking him could he come watch Nikio while he worked a bit in his office.

 

He reasoned with Marco that he couldn’t get work done if he had to worry about Nikio as well. It took a bit more persuasive words, but Marco promised his presence in about fifteen minutes. Marco was never late.

 

Jean had thrown a small party in his head when Marco showed up at his door, happy to see the other. Nikio nearly threw himself on Marco, and the two trotted into the living room while Jean parted to his study, truly needing to get work done, (now that Marco was there anyway.)

 

It was only when his nose picked up the smell of food, did the golden eye accountant remove his butt from the rolling chair, removed his glasses from his face and make his way into the kitchen. As usual, Marco had made some delectable food and was currently setting it out across the table.

 

Marco didn’t even turn to Jean as he spoke. “I figured you’d be hungry with all this work on a Saturday. Come, sit, take a break” Marco instructed, leaving little room for argument as he pulled out a chair for the other. Jean took a sit, tentatively thanking the other and they settled into a comfortable silence.

 

Until Marco opened his mouth to ask a question that had been bothering him since day one. “Have you been married Jean?”

 

It blindsided him, and left Jean speechless for a moment. Five little words bringing back so much pain and emotion underneath the cool and calm facade of Jean’s face. “I was” he replied, taking a bite of his sandwich. “A while ago, when I was young and stupid.” he added, looking at the other. “The divorce was finalized about a year ago, and I haven’t seen Annie since. Why do you ask?”

 

At this, Marco blushed, realizing the error of his question. He had asked something personal, he had dug maybe a bit too far and now Jean (rightfully) wanted to know why Marco was so curious. And to be perfectly honestly, Marco was not sure himself. So instead of answering, Marco decided it would be a good time to do something else.

 

Anything else.

 

“We should take Nikio to the park. I am sure he would like a run through the national park. And it is a Saturday and I am sure you work can wait a bit. You need to relax.” Marco smiled brightly, winking at the other playfully. “I dunno. I still have things I need to get done Marco” Jean said, being honest.

 

“Well a small break is not going to kill you. Do you even know what the sun looks like on a Saturday?” the freckled boy laughed as he scooted back from the table and stood, patting his thighs. “Tell daddy that you wanna go walking Nikio” he encouraged the oaf of a dog.

 

Of course, Jean’s mind was stuck in the gutter, imagining several other scenarios involving Marco using the word “Daddy.” Once again, he pulled himself from those very dangerous thoughts and decided it was best to give into the childish want that Marco had.

 

Jean was totally not going to enjoy a relaxing walk with Marco on a Saturday when he was supposed to be working, even though he didn’t have to work and he had called Marco over there for other, more selfish reasons.

 

But he did. Jean enjoyed the walk in the park. Trost National Park was actually very beautiful near the end of November. The transition between November into December left the orange and yellow of fall behind, while the frost covered the ground like a sheet, being it was not quite cold enough for it to actually start snowing. It was like being lost between two worlds. Two very beautiful words with Marco and Nikio.

 

The trio had taken the rest of the day light hours to tour Trost Park. Marco was amazed and awed by the half frozen streams and lake and Nikio was entertained mostly by tugging on his leash and pulling Jean along as the dog attempted to make friends with more squirrels. All and all, it had been a pretty relaxing day. Marco and Jean traded stories once more, like they did over dinner.

 

Marco told Jean more about his passion for art. How it had started at an early age when his mother first showed him what a paint brush was. He then told Jean how he couldn’t eat chinese because last time he got so sick he didn’t see the outside of his bathroom for days.

 

Jean had stuck to telling Marco some of the basics, even if Marco already knew them. He talked about his marriage for a small while, how it had began in pure happiness and joy and ending with a messy divorce and words that could never be taken back. Jean informed Marco that Annie was a nice woman, that Jean was the one who ruined the marriage, even if he would not elaborate as to why.

 

“Look, we’re back at the entrance” Marco chirped as he side glanced at the taller male. “Well, this was fun Jean. We definitely need to do this again some time. I know Nikio likes the exercise” Marco cooed down at the furry dog. “Yeah..we should” Jean noted, as they continued out of the park and down the sidewalk towards his house, which lay only a few blocks from the park.

 

Returning to the house, Marco gathered his things and wishing Jean a good night before heading out. Leaving Jean once again to his thoughts. Thoughts seemed to be a bit more dangerous to Jean nowadays rather than his liqour. However, the combination of the two was in fact deadly.

 

Flopping down on the couch, Jean leaned his head back against the material, staring up in complete darkness as he disregarded turning the living room light on. Marco had become such a permanent figure in his life that it was almost scary.

 

Jean found himself denying any kind of attraction to the other simply because Jean was not gay. Jean liked women. He was in no way attracted to Marco sexually nor did he love Marco like he had once loved Annie.

 

Jean could never love someone like he had loved Annie.

 

However, Jean couldn’t begin to imagine his life without Marco. Marco had become a light at the end of the tunnel. A replacement, in sorts, to his drinking. Jean hadn’t made a trip to the liquor store in over two weeks, compared to going every other day. Surely the clerk thought he was dead at this point.

 

Marco was that contact that Jean was missing. Nikio, while a lovable little shit, didn’t fill that void like Marco did. Jean still had Nikio to thank, because without having a dog, Jean would have never needed a dog sitter. He would have passed that newspaper on the side of the road without a second glance, and forever had lost the opportunity to meet a man like Marco Bodt.


	4. Making it Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is coming to an end and Christmas is close, but so is the end of Marco’s stay at his apartments. It is time for him to move, and that thought only sends Jean spiraling downwards into an abyss. And by spiraling, Jean is doing back flips into a bottle of dark whiskey.

Cursing, Jean shoved his car door closed and damned every god possible on making him late coming home. Today seemed like the day that every feasible thing that could prevent him from returning home on time happened. Numbers didn’t add up at the end of the day, which left Jean, as the senior accountant and one held responsible, to stay behind and recount and sift through endless files.. Staying behind led to him driving right into work traffic which he did his best to avoid. Driving into work traffic led to an hour delay due to a wreck. So when Jean had finally gotten home, it was dark and Jean was beyond miserable.

 

Not only because he had just had the crappiest day ever, but because he knew his evening time with Marco was cut short today. Dinner would be short, if Marco stayed at all, and Jean would have little to no time to sit down and talk with the other like they usually did.

 

Walking up the path that led to the front door, Jean pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, entering with a huff and a puff and a loosening of his tie.

 

“I’m sorry I’m late. Work was bad. Traffic was bad. Everything was just bad” the man complained, kicking off his shoes in the hallway and placing his jacket on the coat hanger. “Smells good, whatever it is” he called, before moving across the wooden floors and into the kitchen.

 

Before he can even spot what Marco has cooked up today, the freckled young man his hugging him tightly, with the goofiest grin on his face. “No..homo dude” Jean murmured, staring down at the other quizzically.

 

“High school boys say that, not grown men” Marco quipped, finally letting go of the other and smoothing out the wrinkles he had created in the other’s dress shirt. “I just wanted to thank you for all that you have done for me Mr.Kirby” the brunette beamed, looking up at Jean.

 

“I should be the one thanking you. You’re like a damn house keeper” Jean commented as he passed the other to go sit down at the table. “Why the thanks all of a sudden anyway?” he questioned, pulling a chair away from the table.

 

“Well, as I have mentioned before my inheritance is set to stop at the end of December, which is only two more weeks away.” Marco said, leaning against the door frame and rubbing one arm with his hand. Marco wasn’t exactly happy he had to leave, having found such a good friend in both Nikio and Jean, but he couldn’t continue living in a place he couldn’t afford.

 

“So I have to move out of my apartment by then. Luckily enough I’ve got good friends. I’m moving in with that guy from my highschool I told you about a few days ago. Up in Cantebury” Marco explained, finally moving to sit down and enjoy some dinner.

 

“Thats a six hour drive” Jean commented, more to himself it seemed, than to Marco. The man heard it however, none the less. “I know. Its a long drive. I just wanted you to know that you have been nothing but good to me Jean. And out of all the friends I’ve made here, I think I am going to miss you and Nikio the most.” Marco smiled, biting into his fettuccine. “Yeah. I’m gunna miss you too Freckle-Face” Jean chuckled, a dry and bitter chuckle as he stabbed at his plate like it was the devil.

 

“I don’t know what Nikio is going to do without you” Jean added, looking up to stare at the other. “What about college?” Jean asked after some time. “Thats the beauty of online courses, they are flexible” Marco giggled.

 

“How are you going to pay for them?” Jean asked, a bit of sadness to his voice. “Well, my classes this semester are paid up. And I am sure I’ll find some kind of work to pay next semester” the brunette mused.

 

“Sounds like you have it all figured out then.” Jean commented.

 

“Oh, not even close” Marco laughed, wiping his mouth. “If I had things figured out Jean, I wouldn’t have been living off an inheritance, or I would have had a more stable job than this” he said, motioning to the air around them. “Don’t get me wrong, I love all that you have done for me Jean-”

 

“I have done absolutely nothing for you Marco, I should be the one thanking you” the older man said, looking down at his plate. “You’ve been the best house maid I’ve ever had”

 

“Shut up” Marco laughed, refusing to start another food fight with the man.

 

After that, they continued in silence, yet this was not the comfortable silence that Jean knew. This silence was awkward and sad even. When the time came for Marco to leave, he was not sure if he was happy or sad to watch him go. Jean was getting really fed up with these conflicting emotions.

 

He sounded so pathetic. Probably because Jean was pathetic.

 

And it was like the eye before the storm as Marco left, Jean saying his final goodbyes to the freckled face wonder. He wouldn’t see Marco again after this.

 

The boy was was packing the last of his things tonight and making a finally trip up to Cantebury tomorrow, and letting the lease run out at the end of December.

 

As soon as the lights from Marco’s car faded down the street, Jean turned a complete 180 degrees and headed to his liquor cabinet. Tonight was just a good night to drink. Tonight would be a good night to try and drown out all the thoughts and memories that even had a trace of Marco in them.

 

If Jean couldn’t remember Marco, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad to know he was leaving. Maybe Jean wouldn’t feel so empty again if he could just forget Marco’s face or his smile or his infectious laugh.

 

And drink did Jean do. It was a surprise that he didn’t get alcohol poisoning, but Jean would argue that he had built up a tolerance to such things.

 

After a half of bottle of hard whiskey and a few shots of bourbon, Jean started screaming. He yelled at the top of his lungs as he flinged the bottle against the wall, causing Nikio to run for his life, finding refuge in the downstair bathtub, curling into a ball as he listened to his master turn into a monster.

 

A raging, angry monster that deserved the loneliest that Jean wallowed in.

 

Stomping across the living room, Jean snarled as he swiped off all the dirty dishes from the dining room table, watching them smash on the floor like an orchestrated disaster. “Fuck!”

 

“God damnit!”

 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Jean yelled, pulling and yanking at his hair as he stormed around his house in a fit of drunken rage that he could not explain, probably not even if he was sober enough to put sentences together.

 

All Jean knew was that he was angry. Jean was angry because Marco was leaving. The one stable thing that Jean had was leaving him. Then Jean became angry at being angry that Marco was leaving, reasoning with himself that he didn’t need Marco, yet it felt like such a lie to him.

 

Jean tore through his house, smashing and breaking anything he could get his hands on. Glassware, painting hanging on the wall. The man even took a steak knife and tore through the upholstery on his couch, before moving into his office and shattering multitudes of papers that Marco had organized so well.

 

Then Jean became angry that he was drinking, something so typical of his father, which led Jean to be angry that his mother was gone. He became angry at anything that passed his mind, and it tore through him like a hurricane, leaving a shaken and drunk mess of a man, finally sprawled out on his back porch, wearing nothing more than striped boxers and a white bath robe, as he threw full bottles of liquor into the forested area behind his fenced in backyard, grinning like a mad man at the satisfying sound of glass shattering.

 

It almost sounded like his life to be honest.

 

By the time Jean is done, he house looks like a dishevel heap of anger and aggression and Jean could not fathom the damage he had done, the liquor still clouding his judgement and brain. All he knew was how good the cold wood of his porch felt against his hot skin as he laid face first on the ground. It didn’t take much longer until he was passed out, Nikio still hiding in the bathroom.

 

By the time Jean finally woke up, due to a pounding headache thumping against his temple and the sound of small whimpers next to him coming from none other than Nikio, it was almost five in the morning. The sun was barely peeking over the trees, casting a light golden glow to the air, and reminding Jean that today was the day that Marco was leaving forever.

 

Forever.

 

It was only six hours away, but it was still away from Jean. It was so far away, and with a man that Marco used to date. Jean could see it now almost perfectly. The two move in together, get back together and live happily ever after while Jean had to deal with another loss of something who was important to him. Marco had become such a prominent figure in his life. A good friend that was there for him, and now Marco was leaving.

 

Glancing over to the right, Jean noticed his phone, a newly cracked screen indicating what a night Jean had. Maybe one final call? One call just to tell Marco goodbye at five in the morning. One last call to tell Marco that he will be missed and that Jean will never find another dog sitter like him.

 

“Hello?”

 

Marco sounded groggy, as if he was woken by the sound of his phone. It wouldn’t be the first time Jean had called him while he was sleeping, but five in the morning was early, even for Jean.

 

“Hey” Jean’s hungover and soft voice spoke, looking up at the fading stars and wondering about the mysteries of life because his drunk mind found it the perfect time to do so.

 

“Jean? What is it?” Marco asked, sitting up in bed and scratching his bare thigh. After Jean didn’t answer for some time, Marco tried again, a small and knowing smile playing across his lips. “Jean are you-”

 

“You can’t go” Jean blurted, his brain to mouth filter deciding to shut down for the time being.

 

“You can’t go Marco.” he repeated a bit slower, looking over at Nikio.

 

“Why not?” Marco asked, leaning against his headboard and staring out his apartment window, watching the sun creep up above the city buildings. “Its not like I can stay here.”

 

“Because, you’re the best dog sitter I’ve ever met” came Jean’s initial response, to which Marco replied with a soft laugh. “That is not much of an excuse Jean” Marco informed the other. “Rather stupid reason too-”

 

“Fine..look..Marco” Jean sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Look..Marco..its..its hard for me to make friends. I don’t even have that many where I work…but with you..with us…its easy with you. I feel like you are a really good friend Marco, and I can’t let such a good friend leave just like that. I can’t just let a good friend move away forever.”

 

“Jean, I can’t afford my rent anymore.” Marco told the other, a frown playing across his lips. “And you sound like you’re five”

 

“Then move in with me” Jean suggested, opening his eyes now. He was met with a bark of laughter, and the accountant frowned, feeling a pang of rejection.

 

“Thats funny Jean. But I doubt you’d want me in your house”

 

“If I didn’t want you Marco, I wouldn’t have offered. You’re more than just a dog sitter to me at this point” Jean commented.

 

“Oh, what am I then to you?” the brunette questioned, cocking his head to the side, slipping out of bed and stretching his nude and freckled body.

 

“You are the reason my house is running. My mail is put out on time. You are the reason my dog is fat and that my clothes are clean Marco. You’re like my little secretary at this point. You control such a large portion of my life, that if I let you go now, I’m just gonna fall apart”

 

“Which is code for: Marco I need you because my life is incomplete with you” Bodt teased with twinkling laughter in his voice.

 

Jean couldn’t help but laugh, happy that Marco had broke the tension for him because it was getting awkward very fast. Laying out on his porch at five in the morning and looking worse than pathetic, Jean was smiling like an idiot as replied, “If you want to call it that, fine. I just-”

 

“Jean?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Does this mean you’ll-”

 

“Of course. Free food and rent free”

 

“I never said rent free”

 

“The begging in your voice said otherwise Mr.Kirkland”


	5. The Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is just a week away and our two favorite men are acting more and more like a couple each day, no matter how much Jean tries to deny it. Marco is just staying in his house, cooking him dinner and making him celebrate Christmas. There was nothing strange about that at all.

Marco had finished moving his stuff in a few days after the phone call. He didn’t bring much with him. A few bags of clothes, his car, some odds and ends, and a load of painting materials which shouldn’t have surprised Jean as much as it did.

 

Marco took the guest bedroom that was across the hall from Jean’s room. It was awkward the first day or so, bumping into Marco in the hallway. Jean would mumble an apology before moving on either to his room or out of the hall.

 

Jean definitely was more affected by Marco’s presence that Marco was of Jean’s. The man seemed to fit in perfectly to Jean’s home, like he had been there for years. Marco continued to cook, clean and otherwise bring a bit of life to the house while Jean stumbled a bit on this new presence in his life.

 

There were even a few times that Jean forgot that Marco lived there now and didn’t leave after he cooked dinner.

 

Nikio seemed to be the only one taking this change well. He stayed attached to Marco’s side almost all day, leaving it only to sleep in Jean’s bed during the night. The dog would lay down at the entrance to the kitchen as Marco cooked, waiting for his playmate to finish so they could play once more. Jean had caught Nikio a couple of times trying to get into the bathroom with Marco, which led to Jean accidentally catching a glimpse of Marco’s freckled back.

 

Things were different now, and Jean felt it every time he woke up and everytime he went to work and came home. Marco was there, making breakfast or doing the dishes. Sometimes Marco would actually wake Jean up himself, five minutes before the alarm would go off.

 

It was strange and foreign, just like it had been when Jean had first met Marco. Jean was not used to being in his own house anymore. Things were different, and it left the man in a state of slight awe.

 

Jean was not used to Marco’s car in his driveway. He was not used to bumping into Marco in the mornings after a shower. He wasn’t even used to sharing his shower. Jean had a second bathroom in the hallway, but he had used it for storage, which left his master bathroom at the disposal of the freckled man.

 

Jean was not used to coming home to a functioning house where there was life and warmth. He was not used to being greeted every morning and every afternoon by a bright smile and a set of beautiful eyes that shined with such life that Jean didn’t even know could exist in one single person.

 

Jean was not used to the warmth and compassion that radiated from Marco. It was comforting, yet so utterly new to him, and the older man didn’t have a single clue on how to react to this all. He must have come off as a complete asshole to Marco sometimes.

 

It was not like when Jean had first met Marco. In all honesty, Jean should have been used to the effects Marco had on him. The brown eyed boy was staying with him now full time, and that was the difference.

 

Jean was not used to Marco staying with him.

 

Jean was used to Marco leaving.

 

Sighing deeply, Jean removed himself from the kitchen, leaving the cold coffee on the table. Marco was out, on a run or something like that with the dog. Freckle face seemed to enjoy getting up at the asscrack of dawn and doing activities that Jean didn’t even have the motivation for in the afternoon. 

 

On a Saturday no less.

 

Moving down the hallway, Jean’s attention was caught by the guest bedroom door, which was usually shut since Marco insisted he couldn’t paint if people watched him do it. However, the door was ajar now, and Jean couldn’t resist the temptation to peek inside. Jean never really used the guest bedroom nor did he go in there often. It was a room that had been devoid of life, but now Marco was staying there. And for some weird reason, it gave Jean a bit of a tingly sensation to think that Marco was laying on a bed that belonged to Jean.

 

“You gotta stop being such a creep” Jean scolded himself, yet didn’t move from his spot in the hallway. The door was open.

 

It was like an invitation to Jean to go be nosey. And it wasn’t like it was illegal. It was his house after all, and if he wanted to go into a room in his house, he could. And he would.

 

At least that was his argument.

 

Padding across the carpeted hallway, Jean pushed open the door a bit more, allowing him a full view of the room. It was a mess to say the least.

 

Paintbrushes were scattered across the room, while several bottles of paint accompanied them. Canvases were leaned against the wall, and the closet was open, an avalanche of boxes protruding from the tiny space.

 

There were some sketch books lying around, a few pages sticking out randomly while a string of drying paintings were hung up on the back wall. The room was an absolutely hectic, but Jean couldn’t find the motivation to clean or even be mad at Marco.

 

This whirlwind of paintings, canvases and other materials looked right at home. As if this is the place they were supposed to be laying. On his dresser or on the expensive bed sheets he bought for this room. Even the paint stained curtains looked perfect against the wall, even if he had paid seventy dollars per panel for them.

 

All at once, Jean felt as if he was invading Marco’s personal space. He felt as if he had stepped into the boy’s diary and felt utterly guilty about it. This was the his own little world and Jean had entered without permission. He stepped back into the hallway, and closed the door all the way with a deft ‘click.’

 

As much as Jean wanted to look through drawings and paintings, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. If Marco wanted him to see all that, he would personally invite Jean in. Otherwise, the canvases were things that only Marco were allowed to see.

 

“We’re back!” The enthusiastic youth called from the hallway, followed by a loud bark and the thud of large paws thumping against the floor as Nikio went on the hunt for Jean.

 

“How was the walk!?” Jean replied, moving back down the hall and into the kitchen he had abandoned not too long ago. He had forgotten what he was doing anyway at that point.

 

——

 

Exhausted and tired, Jean closed his car door and took in a deep breath. It was a late Friday evening and he was finally off work for Christmas, something that he enjoyed and hated all at the same time. Jean never really celebrated Christmas. It was not something that he got to enjoy as a child, especially after his mother’s death. And Jean never even attempted to celebrate the event in college. It seemed pointless to him to celebrate such a greedy and ridiculous holiday to impress people he didn’t even like.

 

The man used to go to the absurd Christmas parties that Mr.Smith held for his workers. Jean and Eren used to go all the time and get shit faced as hell before stumbling back to their respective dwellings and sleeping off a hangover. That scene got old though and repetitive as Jean got older. Eren was still young and had the ability to rebound from hangovers better.

 

Jean was twenty six, and not getting any younger.

 

Eventually Jean just became an anti-social butterfly during Christmas. Locking himself in the house with a drink and some TV, he would drown out carols and whimsy. Something he planned on doing all that weekend and the rest of the week until he had to go back the Monday after the upcoming one and resume his life inside a cubical.

 

Carrying his bag and after hours coffee, Jean locked his car up and made the small walk to his front door, like he did every day after work.

 

All he wanted to do was eat and go to bed. The last day before a week off was always the hardest, considering that Mr.Smith’s watchdog found it entertaining to work employees later than usual.

 

He struggled with his keys for a minute, but finally unlocked the door and let out a sigh of relief. He was finally home and able to relax a bit.

 

Setting aside his keys and pulling off his dress shirt, Jean chunked his things on the side table and closed the door. He felt his muscles untense, and the weight of thousands of numbers lift from his shoulders. No more work. No more work for a whole week.

 

Deciding that the hallway was not the best place to pass out in he took two step before being attacked.Thin and nimble hands wrapped around Jean’s upper arms and shook him.

 

Jean would be lying if he didn’t have a small heart attack and if he didn’t happen to see those damned freckles, he would have knocked Marco out on the floor.

 

“What is wrong with you!” Marco exclaimed, shaking the other once more, deep brown eyes filled with concern and worry. Jean’s own eyes began to mirror that same emotion, afraid that somehow he had fucked up and now Marco was going to leave him all alone and he would probably start drinking again and lose that happiness in his life and-

 

“You don’t have any Christmas decorations! I have looked everywhere! Even in that creepy little shed you have out back” Marco said, releasing the other from his grip. Blinking, the golden eyed brunette looked at Marco as if he was insane, before letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

 

“Is that really what this fuss is about? You had me scared for a minute that..that the dog died or something” Jean said, attempting to scold the other but it came out more as a relieved sigh. In a small attempt to cover it up, Jean ruffled Marco’s hair with a smirk before walking past the other. He made a beeline to the living room, sitting down on the couch to take his shoes off.

 

“This is a serious matter Jean. Stop being a scrooge about it!” Marco pouted, flopping down next to the other and smacking him across the head with a couch pillow. “You have nothing Christmas-y here in this house. That is a problem!”

 

“How so?” Jean asked, deciding to humor the other. He had been doing that a lot lately.

 

“Because Christmas is next Friday and you have done nothing to prepare for it!’ Marco whined, jumping up and down on the couch. “I don’t usually celebrate Christmas” Jean replied as he leaned back against the couch, chancing a glance over at Marco. And it was like Jean had shot the freckled man dead.

 

Marco looked like a doe in headlights. He was sitting, still now, on the couch with his head cocked to the side like Nikio would do when he was begging. The younger man stuck his lower lip out and it began to tremble. “What?” Jean asked, not baring the silence much longer.

 

“How do you not celebrate Christmas!!” Marco exclaimed, moving his hands around erratically. “With a bottle of Jack and a re-run of cops” Jean quipped with a quirky little smirk. He received another smack across the head with a pillow.

 

“We are going shopping” Marco stated, as if he word was law and Jean had no say in his house anymore. And to be honest, Jean really didn’t have a say in his house the minute he bought Nikio. Bouncing off the couch, Marco flew down the hallway and Jean could hear the boy rummaging through his room. “Is this really necessary?” the older male called from his spot on the couch, ignoring the fact that he was putting his shoes back on.

 

“Of course it is! You’re not allowed to be a scrooge!”

 

“What the fuck is a scrooge!?” Jean called, standing and stretching as he made his way over to the table where he had laid his stuff. Collecting his wallet and keys, the man leaned against the door and sighed. He didn’t have the slightest clue why he was doing this.

 

The only thing that came to mind was that it was going to make Marco happy, and Jean outright refused to believe that making Marco happy was his single motivator. Yet, he couldn’t think of anything else.

 

“scrooges are people who use language like that, Mr.Kirkgoblen” Marco retorted from the hallway, shoes and a jacket present on his form now. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck. Fucking” Jean drawled out as he twirled his keys.

 

When was the last time he was this relaxed? Maybe the first time he saw Marco, Jean was not very sure.

 

“Hold that tongue, Jean. Or I’ll hold it for you” Marco commented, finally standing in front of the other.

 

“Sounds more like a promise”

 

“Wanna find out?”

 

Blinking, Jean stared at the other, not believing that his sweet little dog sitter had a perverted side. Marco hadn’t uttered not a single suggestable phrase before. It was kind of cute to see Marco wiggle his eyebrows like a dork as he waited for Jean to respond to such a question.

 

Letting out a small chuckle, Jean opened the front door. “come on then” he said, a giggle or two leaving his throat.

 

“What’s so funny?” Marco huffed, his eyebrows and ego deflating altogether.

 

“You. Now come on before I change my mind.”

 

——

 

Marco spent the next day working on the house, mainly the living room. Jean had outright banned the use of any lights on the outside of his house, even though Marco had tried that puppy dog look on him when he refused.

 

The living room looked like the north pole barfed in his home. Stockings for himself, Marco and Nikio were pinned along the mantle while garland took up the space on the top of the mantle, along with stupid little village trinkets that lit up. Scented pine cones replaced the faux fruit that had been sitting on his coffee table for ages, and a green and red table cloth covered his dining room table now.

 

Simple beige couch pillows gave way to more festive (and rather tacky) red ones, while the floor around the small Christmas tree looked as if someone had sneezed tinsel on it.

 

Poinsettias sat on almost every flat surface and table in the living room. So much so that Jean actually moved some of the annoying flowers into the hallway so it didn’t look so crowded.

 

Ornaments of all shapes and sizes hung on the tree situated in the corner of the room, right next to the fireplace which was now being used courtesy of Marco Bodt. The tree was small, Jean putting his foot down to having a titanic tree in his house.

 

He was certain that he would be the one to drag the heavy thing into his house and the one to drag it back out when the holiday was over.

 

The size restriction didn’t seem to stop Marco from cramming as many ornaments and lights on the poor, artificial tree until it looked like it was going to fall over from the weight.

 

Under the tree sat a bundle of wrapped gifts in the shape of dog bones and water bowls, all of which Nikio constantly had to be scolded for sniffing around them. Marco had informed Jean they simply couldn’t have a tree without presents. There was no point in a tree if there were no presents.

 

To which Jean replied that he saw no point in a tree at all.

 

When all was said and done, Marco was happy at least. Jean might have cringed every time he went by the livingroom to enter the kitchen, but at least Marco was happy. And if Marco was happy, then Jean could be happy too.

 

Tis the season, after all.

 

“Doesn’t it look great?” Marco chirped as he placed the very last silver ornament on the tree and stepped back to revel in his Christmas glory.

 

“fantastic” Jean replied, ruffling Marco’s hair. “My house looks fit enough for Santa to live in” he joked, knowing that look Marco was giving him. “I’m not dressing up as Santa Claus”

 

“But Jeeeaaaannn-”

 

“And we’re not dressing Nikio up either”

 

“but Jeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan-”

 

——

 

Marco was stationed in the kitchen, and oblivious to Jean’s presence just at the entrance. Marco was cooking, as per usual, but this time he was cooking large amounts of food with the excuse that it was Christmas Eve and Jean was going to eat till he got fat.

 

However, Marco was also doing something else, which would explain why Marco had suggested that Jean take Nikio for a brisk walk in the December snow at seven in the evening. The freckled kid was wrapping presents. Presents obviously not for Nikio, for they had little tags on them that read “Jean.”

 

His name. Marco had gotten gifts for Jean, and it made the older gentleman’s heart beat a bit faster at the thought that Marco was doing something nice for him. Jean honestly couldn’t remember the last time he received a Christmas gift from anyone but his mother.

 

Not able to help himself, Jean sneaked across the kitchen, stealthy like a cheetah. Tiptoeing until he was right behind Marco, he placed his hands on both Marco’s shoulders, causing the boy to almost jump out of his own skin.

 

“What the butterscotch Jean?! You scared the crap out of me!” Marco complained, stomping his foot like a child, placing a hand over the area of his chest where his heart would be.

 

Jean ignored him. “what are you wrapping?” he questioned, peaking around Marco’s shoulder, catching a glimpse of silver wrapping paper and a green bow.

 

“None of your business” Marco chided, trying to shoo the other away. “Go back to your study. Dinner is not ready yet” he insisted, attempting to give Jean a warning look.

 

And only caused Jean to want to see what Marco was wrapping even more. “Come on” Jean said, a slight whine in his voice as he reached around the other, trying to grab ahold of the present.

 

“Stop” Marco insisted once more, moving it out of Jean’s reach. “I’m going to get it one way or another” Jean informed the other as he reached for it again.

 

“No, you’re not”

 

“I totally am” Jean corrected, moving around the other now, having a better reach to the gift.

 

“Jean I swear-”

 

“Come on just a peek-”

 

“No! Its not Christmas yet!”

 

“Come on Marco-”

 

“Jean!”

 

“Just one peek!”

 

“No!”

 

“It’s my house-”

 

“I live here too-”

 

“Lemme’ see it-”

 

The two tussled with words for a bit, Marco playing keep-away around the kitchen with Jean’s gift until the man had him cornered against the island. Thinking that he had finally got his prey cornered, Jean reached for the box, wanting to know what the world Marco would get him for Christmas.

 

Marco jerked away in a ditch effort, but instead of getting away from Jean, the two of them ended up sprawled on the tiled floor, Jean successfully pinning Marco down, the present now out of reach for the both of them.

 

The silver wrapped box was the last thing on Jean’s mind at this point. As he laid on top of Marco, his first thought should have been to get up and apologize for such rough play. But Jean couldn’t bring himself to think of anything other than Marco’s lips.

 

He hadn’t even noticed them before, but now that he was barely inches away from the other, feeling Marco’s physical warmth and noticing just about every freckle on the kid’s face, it was hard not to notice his lips as well.

 

They were soft looking and an interesting pale shade. Jean wondered for a moment if Marco ever bit at them in nervous habit, or maybe lip biting was a turn on for the boy. Jean’s golden eyes took in every detail about those lips, and burned it into a mental image.

 

“Jean-”

 

The mousy haired man continued to stare, vague thoughts of what Marco’s tongue might look like entering his mind.

 

“Jean-”

 

Did Marco use his tongue for kissing? Or was he one of those people who enjoyed pecking more than they did twirling appendages together.

 

“Jean!”

 

Shaking his head and frantically blinking, Jean pulled away from Marco, not realizing that he had been inching closer and blanking out all at the same time. “What?” Jean inquired, not trying to sound annoyed that Marco had interrupted his thoughts. His very dangerous thoughts.

 

“The oven buzzard is going off, you gonna let me up? Or are we just gonna let dinner burn?” the brunette stated, cocking his head to the side with a lazy smile. Jean quickly nodded and stood, helping the other up with a mumbled apology and a quick, “No Homo.”


	6. Mixed Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren decides that going out drinking with his best working buddy, Jean, is a good way to catch up after the Christmas break. Of course, as all things go, Jean ends up drunk off his ass and walking home.

“So how was your Christmas?” Eren inquired, leaning back in his swivel office chair while he stared intently at Jean as if that would produce an answer from the other.

 

Like most days, Jean remained quiet and Eren had to resort to other tactics to get the man to talk. Reaching behind him, Eren swiped a piece of paper from his desk and crumbled it up. Taking aim, he threw it, catching Jean on the side of the head.

 

“It was fine.” Jean responded, but continued to type away on his computer and attempt to focus. That in itself was hard to do when Eren was his cube mate. Jean had his methods in dealing with the black haired male, but being stuck with Eren for almost ten hours straight was sometimes too much.

 

“What did you do?” Eren prodded, twirling around in his chair like a child. “Surely you didn’t just sit around and do nothing. You’re being too nice today. Something must have happened over your break” he added with an infuriating smirk. Nimbling fingers paused over Jean’s keyboard and Eren knew that he had hit a nail on the head.

 

“So…I bet you banged that dogsitter of yours” he suggested, trying to hook onto the truth of the matter as to why Jean was actually smiling and not being a total ass like he usually was during the work hours. However, Jean quickly lashed out against Eren’s commented, barking at the other that he didn’t like dudes in that way.

 

Eren decided it was best to leave the subject alone and not point out that Jean infact, didn’t deny the accusation directly. Their cubical fell into a silence and Jean resumed the tapping on his keyboard, filling in a spreadsheet of account numbers. Jean scrunched his nose together and sighed lightly, trying to focus but to no avail. Eren had successfully distracted him with a single comment.

 

Eren didn’t even know that Marco was living with Jean full time now, and that was probably for the best. Jean wouldn’t hear the end of it and it would only add more fuel to the ever burning fire of Eren’s annoyingness. Chancing a glance at the clock, Jean decided that now would be the best time to go get some coffee and take a small break away from Eren. Standing, the man closed several tabs on his screen before pushing his chair back and moving out of the cubicle and down the hall towards the staff room.

 

Eren didn’t catch the hint, for he followed the older man closely, that stupid grin still plastered across his face. “What do you want?” Jean asked, not even turning around as he poured the crudely made coffee into a tiny styrofoam cup. Stirring in two sugars, Jean blew against the hot liquid in an attempt to cool it down.

 

“How about we go out drinking tonight? The two of us? Huh? Huh? Like old times. How long has it been since we’ve been out together?” Eren suggested, wiggling his eyebrows like Marco would. Jean blinked and scolded himself for comparing almost everything he thought about to Marco. Marco was not the center of the universe.  

 

“Can’t. I can’t leave Nikio home alone. The little shit will tear up everything in the house.” Jean replied swiftly before he actually thought about what he said. Eren was on the error in a heartbeat before Jean had a chance to correct himself.

 

“Bullshit. That is what you pay that adorable little dog sitter for. Call him and tell him you’re gonna be late. I’m sure he doesn’t mind getting paid extra. And while you’re at it, if you’re not gunna bang him, give me his number” the black haired man said, deciding on making himself some coffee as well, diluting it with far too much creamer. Jean rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to snort.

 

Eren wasn’t even Marco’s type.

 

Jean sighed once more and leaned against the counter, realizing that he had backed himself into a corner. If he was thinking rationally, Jean could have talked himself out of the situation, but his mind was clouded with fear that Eren would find out about Marco. He was afraid that everyone else would find out about Marco.

 

It was no secret that Eren Jaeger could not keep secrets and tended to add more to the story simply to amuse himself.

 

So, Jean succumbed to Eren’s request, deciding that a beer or two with the younger would do no harm at all. He would call Marco during lunch and just explain he would be late coming home. Jean would go with Eren to a bar, talk for an hour and return home where he truly wanted to be.

 

Not because of Marco or anything like that.

 

“Fine.”

 

Fist pumping the air, Eren punched Jean’s shoulder ecstatically. “Yeah! I’ve missed my drinking buddy!” he cheered, taking a sip of his coffee. “We might actually get you laid tonight so maybe you can stay this nice a bit longer” he added, before taking his coffee and heading back to their cubicle. Jean followed, not as nearly excited as the other. Sitting down, Jean set his coffee to the side before cracking his knuckles and began typing away. He fell back into work rather easily.

 

By the time Jean’s mind wandered away from anything that was not number or currency related, Eren was tapping him on the shoulder, informing the other that it was time to clock out. Jean was stunned on how fast time had flown. It felt like it was only minutes ago that Eren and him were having a conversation in the staff lounge.

 

When they get to the bar, Eren offered to buy the first round in celebration of getting Jean to actually come and not being a total asshole at work that day. The man couldn’t help but laugh at Eren’s stupidity and overall cheeriness before swigging down the beer. The burn and overall bad taste was something he was familiar to and honestly missed. It was comforting to have some he knew so well back in his life.

 

Jean hadn’t really drank much since Marco. He found the urge to be dulled by presence of freckles and chocolate eyes. He drank occasionally during dinner, but nothing serious. Marco had occupied the time Jean usually drank. They went shopping together or a walk in the National Park. Marco never let Jean have a spare moment, and thus Jean never had a spare moment to drink.

 

The last time he actually drank heavily was the night Marco was packing to move to Cantebury. Jean didn’t plan on repeating a night like that and set his limit at two and a half, maybe three if Eren insisted. While drinking was some what of a hobby for him, it felt good to be sober for a long stretch of time.

 

Of course, Jean had set limits before in his life, and broke clear past them in an hour or so.

 

The two males chatted for a while, catching up on on the little things and drank a few more beers. Eren spoke a mile a minute about how much Mr. Rivaille was an ass and hoped the man rotted in hell somewhere. Jean discussed a bit of business with Eren, telling the other how much of a pain it was to have to recount numbers if Mr.Smith was having a bad day.

 

The more the two talked, the more they drank, wasting away time together like good pals. Eren and Jean could co-exist pretty well when they were not shoved into a cubicle together.

 

.It was obvious that Eren was getting a bit tipsy, not able to hold his liqour like Jean could. Smirking the best he could, the black haired man actually stepped up and moved from beer to shots, offering to Jean a round.

 

Stuck between buzzed and tipsy himself, Jean couldn’t find the will to refuse, and the two engaged in a competitive game of shots. And before Jean knew it, shots moved to dark liquor. And from there, Jean took a couple of mixed drinks that had the distinct taste of vodka in them.

 

“Ah! Look at you! There is the Jean I ‘member. A drinking fiend!” Eren laughed, sounding louder than usual before turning to the bar. “Good man! Another round!” Distantly, Jean could hear the cheers of other patrons in the bar before the burning taste of tequila ran down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. The last thing Jean remembered as his mind fuzzed like an old tv screen was Eren mumbling something about it getting late.

 

When he eventually regained his senses, Jean couldn’t recall where he was at or how he got there. He couldn’t recall who it was that was grinding into his thigh and rather hard erection either.

 

Any attempt to clear his eyes failed and only seemed to make his vision worse. Jean settled on leaning his head back against the wall. He was met with cold tile which sent a small jolt through him. Obviously whoever was trying to undo his pants thought this was caused by their hands and not the wall.

 

Scrunching his nose, Jean tried to shift through where he was at. That was usually his first step when blacking out. Hands moved against him, but he already knew he wasn’t alone. His thought process was only further deterred when those smooth hands found his thighs, running manicured nails up and under his boxers. Distantly, he could hear a snicker.  

 

When did he lose his pants?

 

Swallowing thickly, a moan finds it way out of Jean’s throat, encouraging the mystery person to continue their combined ministrations of undressing him and claiming every inch of his lower body with open mouthed kisses.

 

Lifting his head, Jean finally catches a vague image of blond. Long blond hair caressing a sweet pale face while crystal blue eyes stare up at him with an almost feral look. It felt as if Jean had been lost in some kind of alternate world.

 

Or he is dead and just having one of those outer body experiences.

 

“You like that baby?” a soft and sensual voice purrs, echoing slightly off the bathroom wall.

 

When did he get here?

 

His mind makes connections that he cannot keep up. His brain to mouth filter cannot function. The alcohol has left him in a stupor and he cannot stop the words as they tumble from his mouth. “Just like that”

 

“I like a man who knows what he wants” the woman replied, leaning back to remove her top, leaving little left to imagination, even for a drunk Jean. He reached down, pulling her up and against him, moaning out some gibberish at the feeling of bare skin against his own. He doesn’t know where to start or where to finish. Hands grope meaninglessly over her skin, nearly growling at the sensation of soft skin.

 

Damn it, when did he lose his shirt?  

 

His male instincts and drunk courage guided him further down the road of lust. A road that he has been down many times before thanks to Jack or Jim. Jean would not normally hook up with a woman in a dirty bar bathroom. He was more of a cheap hotel man himself, or ‘taking them home and kicking them out the next day’ type of guy. At this point though, Jean was going to take anything he could get.

 

Maneuvering them around, Jean pressed the woman against the wall, running wet kisses up and down her neck, leaving love bites in his wake. Her sweet moans and little giggles did nothing to stop him, and Jean reached behind the woman to unclip her bra, letting it fall to the floor. He was nothing if not an expert in that field. Jean moved his hands down her thighs, hikes her legs up and forcing her to wrap them around his waist and pull him closer. His erection brushes against her and they both moan together in the confined space they are in.

 

“Condom?” Jean mumbles into her ear, pinning both of her hands above her head as he moves his lips down to her collarbone. The only response he gets his a breathy sigh and moan. He only assumes that means “no” but he is far too drunk to care.

 

Jean cannot get enough of the woman’s body, and at the moment he cannot tell if its really him or the alcohol that wants her. She is soft and inviting. Her voice is like sin and it wraps around him like a vice. There no reverse button for Jean at this point. His dick is probably doing most of the rational thinking.

 

“God I’ve missed you” he slurred like a drunk idiot, golden eyes almost molten now from being so intoxicated. He moves his mouth over hers, running his tongue along her bottom lip, nearly begging for entrance. Instead, the woman pulled back and looked at him with a puzzled and lost look.

 

“What are you talking about?” she questioned, shuddering when Jean runs a hand up her bare thigh and under her white skirt. She looks far more sober than Jean does, and while she is just as horny as he is, things just took a turn towards awkward. The blond bombshell has never met Jean in her entire life.

 

“I’ve missed you. Damn it Annie-”

 

A hard and sharp pain jerks Jean out of his dark place while manicured nails are digging into the side of his arm. Jean let her stand on her own, moving away from the bitch who seemed to have changed her mind rather fast.

 

“Jerk!” he hears the mystery woman yell before escaping his grasp completely and gathering her clothes. Bathroom hook ups or not, no one enjoys being called by another woman’s name. Jean knows this first hand, but again, is too drunk to remember.  

 

Stumbling backwards, he leaned against the sink, shaking his head and trying to pull himself together at the same time.

 

She is gone before Jean can utterly an apology. In all reality, he should be thanking the woman. Still as drunk as an Irishman, Jean is now slightly aware of what is going on. He about fucked some stranger in a bathroom with absolutely no protection.

 

And he accidently and drunkenly called her by his ex wife’s name. If that was not a mood killer, nothing was. Rubbing the side of his face Jean turned around to face the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. “Fucking idiot” he chided to himself, before turning on the faucets and splashing water on his face in a futile attempt to sober up completely.

 

“I gotta get home” he told the mirror version of himself, before cutting the water off and using the last of the brown paper towels to wipe his face off. “I need to find Eren” he added, slowly opening the bathroom door. The bar music buzzed through his brain and the crowd of bodies pushed and shoved Jean as he crossed the floor.

 

“Eren!?” he called out, unaware that his attempts of finding Eren would be unsuccessful. Yelling again, Jean received no response, and decided that Eren might be outside taking a cigarette break.

 

A nasty habit in Jean’s opinion, but one that Eren would never give up.

 

Locating the exit was far harder than it should have been, and Jean couldn’t focus on a thing. His eyes shifted, and objects begin to blur to the point where he is not sure where the floor ends and the ceiling begins.

 

It is by a sheer miracle that Jean eventually finds the exit, and stumbled out in the cool air. “Eren?!” he calls once more, looking around the parking lot. Jean can’t  locate his car nor Eren’s.

 

It comes back to him in pieces now.

 

Jean’s car is still at TitanneCorp. Eren was going to drop him off there when they were done. Jean was only going to drink a little bit, not enough to be almost legally dead.

 

“God damn it!” he cursed, kicking at literally air and almost falling over. “Fuck” he snarled, leaning against the closet brick wall. It seems that Jean was walking home from here. Checking his watch, the man groaned out loud. It was nearly two in the morning and Jean was out at a damn bar.

 

Marco was going to kill him.

 

Jean began the walk, attempting to map out his route home. He had taken this walk of shame many times before from this bar. All he had to do was keep going down the road and taking a left or something like that.

 

As he walked, Jean began to feel horrible. Marco was probably worried about him. It finally occurred to Jean that he never called Marco to tell him he was going to be late.

 

As if the situation couldn’t get any worse.

 

Jean cursed himself for being such a damn asshole. Marco was so nice to him. He cooked for Jean and cleaned for Jean and pretty much ran the house for Jean.

 

Marco was probably at home, worrying to death over Jean and the golden eyed man couldn’t even find the decency to call Marco and tell him that he was going to be late.

 

However, the longer he walked the more dark thoughts he began to have. Marco didn’t call him to check on him. Jean had checked his phone several times and not once did he see a missed call from the boy. His mind began to tell him that Marco didn’t give two shits about Jean. Jean was simply his housing. A roommate at best and Marco probably didn’t even care that Jean was gone until the wee hours of the morning.

 

Marco was probably already in bed, sleeping soundly with that stupid mutt of a dog. Even the dog didn’t care about Jean. He could be dead on the side of the street and nobody would care. Not Eren. Not his co-workers.

 

And especially not the freckled face sweetheart living in his house.

 

The long walk home gave Jean time to sober up a bit, but the depressant was still running thick in his veins by the time he reached his front door. Cussing and swearing at his keys, he couldn’t get a good hold on the one that unlocked his door. By the time Jean recognized that his ‘house keys’ were actually his car keys, Marco had already opened the door and was leaning against the frame. The two stared at each other for a single moment before Marco opened his mouth.

 

“You’re late”

 

Marco didn’t sound mad or angry. He did not sound upset or jaded in anyway. He didn’t have a steak knife in hand nor did his eyes burn with hatred. His face looked passive and soft. Jean reasoned that Marco had no decent reason to actually be mad, but it didn’t stop Jean from feeling bad.

 

Marco didn’t sound exactly happy either. His face portrayed nothing, but his eyes glimmered with a hint of worry and hurt even. He looked like a forgotten puppy. At that point, Jean began to wish that Marco was just mad at him. Jean could handle aggression far better than he could handle sadness or tears. Anything but tears.

 

Oh god, if Marco started crying-

 

It didn’t take long before Marco understood that Jean was drunk off his ass and wrapped an arm around the other. He let Jean lean on him, and led the other to the master bedroom. Marco should have gotten a gold medal for actually getting Jean up the stairs.

 

Pushing the door open, Maco grunted at the weight of Jean. “You’re such a fat ass” he mumbled,  dropping Jean on the bed. The older male greets the sheets with a loving moan and open arms.

 

“I know” Jean retorted, snuggling his face deep into a pillow.

 

Marco does his best to undress Jean so he can be comfortable. He has never had that many drunk experiences but he understood that jeans were rather constricting when being drunk and hot at the same time.

 

The man’s shirt is already half way undone and it is easy just to pull it right off. The pants and shoes were a different story and Marco struggled to get Jean to turn over so he could undo the zipper. It didn’t help that Jean was fussing like a toddler.

 

“Stop being a baby” Marco insisted when Jean started squirming.

 

“I usually don’t let just anyone take my pants off” Jean purred, bucking his hips upward. Marco ignored the comment, giving the trousers a final hard tug before they came off completely, leaving Jean clad in a pair of batman boxers.

 

“I was wondering where that pair went” Marco commented under his breath, gathering up the scattered clothes to put them in the wash. “Now be a good boy and sleep it off. You’re gonna have a massive hangover in the morning” He chided, making his way over to the bedside lamp to turn it on. The last thing he needed was Jean getting up in the middle of the night and breaking his drunk neck because he couldn’t see.

 

“I’m always a good boy” Jean snickered, letting his heavy eyelids close.

 

Marco simply nodded and tucked Jean into bed.  Marco wished Jean a good night's rest before pulling away. He doesn’t get far before Jean’s eyes are open once more and the man is grabbing ahold of Marco’s arm.

 

The two stare at each other for an intense moment, each of them waiting for the other to acknowledge whatever the situation was that they were in. Jean was not sure why he reached out for Marco, and Marco surely was none the wiser about it either.

 

And in the moment, Jean couldn’t help but notice how cute Marco actually was. His hair was tousled, as if it had been threaded through several times by a worried hand.  His eyes, usually a bright green, were dark and even sultry.

 

Jean completely lost himself and any sobriety he had mustered on the way home.

 

He yanked Marco down, pressing his lips hard and rough against the other’s. Unlike the woman in the bathroom, Marco tasted sweeter and even his lips felt softer than her’s. Marco didn’t have that lingering after taste of beer and vodka and he surely didn’t smell of cheap perfume and oral sex.

 

No, Marco had the distinctive taste of peppermint along his tongue, mixed with that disgusting dark chocolate he munched on when doing some course work online.

 

Jean could smell his own body wash on the other and it did terrible things to his groin. The sharp scent of cologne and soap mixing together created a deadly combination of want and need for Jean.

 

To know that Marco used the same bath products as him should never, ever be such a turn on.

 

Marco’s lips against his give Jean such a thrilling shock that he could feel his erection coming to life from earlier. “Marco” he nearly groaned against the other’s lips, the name coming out in a jumble mess.

 

The most surprising part was that Marco was returning that kiss, opening his mouth for Jean to explore. Jean wanted to get lost in that mouth; to map out every inch and crevice. Marco was opening himself to Jean. All too soon though, Marco was pulling away.The window of opportunity was pretty damn short.

 

“You’re drunk, Jean.” Marco whispered, eyes glazed over in some kind of emotion that Jean couldn’t pin down. The brunette patted the other’s chest before moving his body completely away from the other.

 

“I know” Jean giggled, before his head fell to one side and his breath finally evened out. The night’s intake of alcohol catching up with the older male and knocking him out cold now.

 

Marco sighed, moving around the bed and towards the bedroom door. He took the handle in his hand, ready to close the door when Nikio scurried through his legs. The large dog, having almost doubled in size now, jumped on top of the bed and curled next to Jean. Marco can’t help the smile that creeps across his face. “Goodnight” he whispered to the pair before closing the door and moving towards the stairs.

 

Now that he is alone and Jean is no longer assaulting his lips, Marco can’t help the confliction in his heart. It was not a secret he had feelings for Jean. Marco knew he liked Jean even after just a couple of days of being his dog sitter. He  believed in the ‘love at first sight’ fiasco and believed even more in romance stories and soul mates. Jean was rough around the edges, but that was what made Jean the man he was.

 

Of course, Marco had assumed, up to that point, that this affection was one sided. There was no possible way a man who chanted ‘No Homo’ constantly would ever begin to have feelings for Marco.

 

But now Marco was not sure what to think. Jean had nearly tongue fucked his mouth just a few moments ago, leaving Marco in a state of limbo. That kiss had been so passionate and amazing and set a fire inside Marco he didn’t even know existed. Yet, Jean was drunk. The man probably had no idea what he just did, nor would he remember it in the morning. It was an accident. There was nothing more to it. Jean would never make a move towards Marco if he was sober and in his right mind. 

 

Sitting down on the top step of the stairs, Marco cannot help but stare down at Jean’s clothes. The young man is not sure what to do. He didn’t  want that utterly happy feeling inside him to end. Jean touched him in such an intimate way, but Marco knew that he is not the first. Jean has touched many other intimately. Marco is sure of that fact.

 

The lipstick marks across Jean’s shirt are an indicator to that. Paired alongside the smell of cherry perfume, Marco knows that Jean has touched at least one other person like he just touched Marco. Jean is not looking for love or affection. Jean is looking for a quick fuck to satisfy his drunk needs.

 

Sitting on the lonely steps, the freckled face boy tried to ignore his own hiccuping sobs or the tear stains on Jean’s work shirt. He is somewhat glad that Jean is knocked out cold, so he can’t see Marco like this.

 

The brunette felt so stupid for falling for a man so hard in such a short amount of time. Marco was still young, but he prided himself on not being completely stupid. Yet, here he was acting like a lovesick high schooler who had some idiotic and unrealistic fantasy that one day the teacher he was crushing on would return his feelings.

 

But Marco couldn’t will away these feelings. They were so deeply rooted in his heart now, that it was impossible to attempt to rid himself of any love for Jean.

 

Marco decided that he would just have to suffer in silence. He had a nice thing going with Jean. They were friends, and Marco was okay with settling with that.


	7. Fixing Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With all actions come consequences and Jean is facing his consequences when he wakes up the next day from his drinking escapade with Eren. Not only has Marco stopped talking to him, but Eren is still being a little shit. And of course Erwin's "watch dog" is being a total prick.

Marco decided that the best thing to do was distance himself from Jean. He understood that is was going to hurt, and that he would suffer for it, but he also understood that he had gotten too close to Jean. He let his feelings overgrow into something he couldn’t control and Marco was determined not to let it happen again.

It shouldn’t matter who Jean went out with or fucked, yet it did last night and Marco knew that something was wrong with him. He shouldn’t have feelings for a man that only needed him for a dog sitter service. Marco shouldn’t have feelings for a man that could do so much better than some nineteen year old kid who qualified as a starving artist if it had not been for Jean’s graciousness.

So when he woke up the next morning, Marco set about doing what he got paid for. He let Nikio out into the backyard so the dog could do his business while the brunette started the coffee. He knew that Jean was not going to be up for a while, but Marco had a long day ahead of him of cleaning along with some grocery shopping.

A long day of getting his feelings together and not act like a depressed, love sick idiot.

He made some coffee and sat at the table, watching the sunrise creep above the trees. A palette of soft oranges and pastel yellows painted the sky like an oversized canvas. It was simply beautiful, a dream for any person with an artistic bone in their body.

Marco saw nothing but an average sky. He felt like he was being over dramatic and maybe acting like a spoiled teenager, but he couldn’t help it.

He was still young, and he still had merits to be angsty if he wanted to.

Pushing the empty coffee cup away, Marco stood and moved back upstairs to get dressed. He thought about treading quietly, but remembered that Jean was probably still drunk and wouldn’t be getting over his actual hangover till about noon, leaving the man sleeping like a rock till then.

So there was a hint of mild surprise when Marco returned from his walk with Nikio to find Jean up, coherent and drinking the coffee that Marco had made a little over half an hour ago. The brunette resisted the urge to chirp out a good morning and let Nikio off the leash. Even the dog seemed to be ignoring Jean and went straight to the living room to curl up on his dog bed.

Marco did find it quite amusing as he rounded the corner into the hallway, determined to get some laundry done and not try to dwell too much on Jean’s boxers.

The silence did not go unnoticed by Jean, who woke up with a small headache and an acute allergy to sunlight. Being drunk was favorite hobby of his, and he stopped having horrible hangovers before he was even legal to drink.

He had stumbled out of his bedroom and down the stairs, ready to apologize for any drunk antics he might have pulled last night and to thank Marco for taking good care of him.  
Jean couldn’t quite remember the entirety of the night, but he knew well enough that he could never successfully pull his clothes off and tuck himself into bed while he was drunk as drunk could get. When he arrived, he noticed that it was quiet and it struck him that Marco was out walking the dog like he did every morning.

He waited, pouring a mug of coffee and taking it black, needing the pure caffeine to jolt his system into a functioning state. When Marco finally did return, Jean opened his mouth to speak, but the little bugger was already gone. Faintly, he could hear the shuffle of clothes and the metal ‘clink’ of the washing machine being opened.

That was rather odd. Usually Marco was very cheery and greeted Jean everytime he woke up. Getting a cold shoulder from the bright and happy-go-lucky young man was something that caused Jean to rethink what he had done last night.

Surely something to cause Marco to practically ignore him. On the other hand Jean felt as if he might be overthinking the situation. Sitting the coffee mug down, the mousy haired man made his way down the hall, following Marco’s previous foot steps.

He stopped at the entrance to the washroom, crossing his arms over his chest out of pure habit and leaned against the doorframe. Marco either did not notice him, or chose to ignore him. Jean couldn’t help the tingly feeling of paranoia slip up his spine and into his thoughts.

Marco continued to unload the washing machine and pack the dryer full. He hummed a soft little tune, something unnameable and very catchy. Once the dryer was running, Marco turned his attention to filling the washing machine back up with dirty clothes. Jean didn’t miss his own work clothes from yesterday.

After staring at Marco like a stalker for almost fifteen minutes with no recognition from Marco, Jean is jolted from his stare by the ringing of his phone. He spared one more glance at the younger man before moving back into the kitchen, picking up one of the home landlines.

“Hello?”

“Care to explain why you are almost two hours late?”

That cold and down right diabolical voice hit Jean hard and it finally came to him that it was a week day and he was sitting at home watching a barely legal boy fold laundry when he was supposed to be at work. Withholding curses inside his mind, Jean tried to think of some excuse.

“Sir-”

“Mr. Jaeger has informed me that you and him went out on a drinking spree last night”

Jean was going to kill Eren.

“-And I can only assume that you probably, and I paraphrase, “Got drunk off your ass with your genitalia stuck up a young lady’s genitalia.”

It was painfully awkward how crude and blunt Mr.Rivaille could be. Jean specifically avoided any kind of spite from Levi, yet Eren seemed to enjoy watching Jean squirm. Jean was definitely going to murder Eren for this.

In cold blood.

And bury him under that same damned bar where the situation rooted from.

“I assure you sir, nothing like that has happened-”

“Then please tell me why you are late-”

Jean cursed under his breath, eyes flicking upward when his peripheral vision caught movement. Marco apparently had finished up the laundry and moved to the cabinet beside him to grab some cleaning supplies.

Again, without a word to Jean.

“Sir. I-” Jean opened his mouth before he could formulate a reasonable answer. In truth, he had none, and Eren was only slightly off when he decided to snitch to Levi. Jean had went out drinking and now he was paying for it.

“Get here before ten and I _may_ entertain the idea of not terminating your employment here”

The line went dead before Jean could reply and the man pinched the bridge of his nose and placed the phone back on the hook. “I have to go into work-”

“I know” Marco replied, dusting off the bookshelf situated near the back end of the living room. Of course Marco would know. The only person who had forgotten was Jean.

Grunting out some unintelligent words, Jean hauled his ass back to his bedroom to get dressed. He was not sure if he was dressing for work or for his funeral.

When Jean left, Marco didn’t even look up from his chores.

When Jean got back, sometime late in the evening since he could not fathom arguing with Levi when the man gave him some accounts to overall near the end of Jean's shift, Marco still wouldn’t look at him. It was infuriating and Jean couldn’t understand why it irked him so bad. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Marco was just acting like brat and Jean wanted to know why.

Yet any attempt to bring up some conversation ended horribly. Marco would answer with single word phrases. By the time they gotten through dinner that night, Jean was ready to pull his hair out of his head.

If Marco would just tell him what was wrong, they could be go back to living in his home comfortably, instead of tiptoeing around each other and the issue that Jean was still unaware of.

Marco’s silent treatment lasted the entire week after christmas. Marco continued to look after Nikio and the house, but simply wouldn’t mutter a word to Jean unless he had to.

Both men were close to losing their minds.

Ignoring Jean was far harder than he thought it was going to be. Marco was over all a social creature. He enjoyed laughing, talking and simply enjoying the company around him. There were several times that he had to catch himself when Jean had asked about his day.

Not talking was almost killing him. Metaphorically anyway. All the unsaid words, both good and bad, were bottled up inside his head. Marco was busting at the seams but his resolve was firm. It hurt him to no end to pretty much ignore Jean, but he knew it was going to hurt more if he let himself get more attached than he already was.

Jean was not faring any better. That familiar loneliness had crept back into his soul. His house no longer held the life that Marco provided, now that the younger decided to be a damn mime. Dinners were awkward. Mornings were awkward.

 _Everything_ was awkward and ridiculous and the more that Jean thought on it, the more angry and upset he became. If Marco wanted to be childish about whatever happened that night, he was entitled to that.

Somehow, even that Justification was not enough for Jean.

In some aspects, Marco was still a child. However, Jean was a man. This was _his_ house and he be damned all to hell if he was going to spend one more day prisoner to _his_ own house because Marco didn’t want to talk.

He was going to handle this situation like any man would.

Not necessarily the best way.

When Friday rolled around Jean was ready to confront Marco. All week, Marco’s mouth had be sealed shut or he would avoid being in the same room as Jean.

Well, Jean was going to make damn sure this didn’t happen anymore.

The house was quiet, but at that point Jean didn’t expect anything different. He pulled his jacket off and placed it on the coat hanger, leaving his things on the same side table he did every day, gold eyes searched for Marco, not initially finding him in the kitchen.

Dinner was on the table, sitting on plates and still steaming. Through the sliding glass door, Jean could see Nikio sitting on the back porch, curled up tightly in his dog house and fast asleep.

Jean felt his lip twitch slightly in annoyance, finding Marco absence to be annoying at this point. The games had to end.

He went on the hunt for the brunette and found him in the master bedroom. Marco was placing the freshly washed sheets on Jean’s bed, tucking carefully and smoothing out the wrinkles created from movement.

Jumping at the sound of the door closing, Marco’s eyes caught Jean’s. The older male leaned against the wooden door, not wanting to give Marco any chance to run this time. Marco just stared at the other, watching as Jean crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hey Jean-” Marco greeted, rubbing the side of his arm as he stood on the other side of the bed, the only piece of furniture that separated the two.

“Oh, so now you have something to say” Jean spat, sounded far more angry than he first intended. Marco jumped once more, this time at the tone of Jean’s voice.

“I have no-”

“Ah!” Jean held up a hand, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t even start on that bullshit. You have been avoiding me. Ignoring me. And I want to know why Marco.”

“Jean, I really don’t-”

Jean silenced him with a steely look. Marco had no idea that Jean was going to be angry at all. Marco was a dog sitter for the man, nothing more and nothing less.

“Jean, we should go eat-”

“We-...are going to stay here until you tell me why you aren’t talking, Marco.” Jean interrupted, eyes never leaving Marco’s.

“I just haven’t been feeling well.” Maro relented, not telling the truth but also not lying either. Taking one of the pillows and fluffing it to a large size to distract himself, Marco waited for Jean to reply. When the other didn’t, he risked a look at Jean.

“Are you done lying?”

“I’m not lying!” Marco surprised himself with his outburst, but was even more surprised when Jean strode over to the bed, standing just opposite of him.

“You are lying. You are trying this on the wrong man, Marco. I’m not one of your buddies. I work with liars and bullshitters for a damn living. Now tell me what the fuck is wrong!” Jean all but growled out, his fists balling in frustration.

Marco was definitely not making this easy for him. The younger man moved, heading around the bed and, like Jean presumed he would do, for the door. “Oh, no, no, no, no.” Jean almost leapt forward, grabbing Marco by the forearm and pulling him away from the only exit.

“Maybe I should move out” Marco blurted, finding that this was the only thing he could think about. It was obvious that his new found silence was causing far too much trouble, but Marco couldn’t go back to the way they had been.

There was just too much he had to lose. Marco refused to let himself fall for Jean anymore than he already had. Jean would find some girl that would replace Marco one day. Jean was still young, still a man that would probably want to get married and have kids.

Marco was certain that he was nowhere in those plans.

A fire burned in Jean’s eyes and his grip on Marco’s arm tightened. “I don’t want you to go anywhere, Marco. Damn it. This would just be easier if you told me what the hell I fucked up”

Letting the other go Jean took the time to run a hand through his hair, completely and utterly flustered and frustrated. “Look, I almost lost you once Marco. At one point you were going to move to Canterbury or where-the-fuck-ever it is with that ‘old friend’ of yours. I took you into my house. Let you live with me when I didn't even know if you had a middle name or not. Why the hell would I want you to move out now?” he asked, taking small steps towards Marco.

He backed the other up almost completely against the door, blocking either side of the brunette’s face with his arms. “Tell me what I did...to upset you”

Marco has never seen such a raw emotion from Jean. The other was usually so snarky and sarcastic. His tone held the same begging quality that Jean had the night he called Marco when he was packing up to move.

Staring up into golden eyes that swirled with such emotion, Marco couldn’t help but let the truth spill from his mouth like an turned on faucet.

“You came home drunk Monday” Marco started and Jean simply nodded to that statement, aware of that part. He wouldn’t have woke up Tuesday with a hangover otherwise.

“What else?” Jean inquired, not inching from his position that clearly invaded Marco’s personal space. Marco hesitated for a bit, but the look on Jean’s face sent him into a ramble.

“You came home drunk. I was fine with that. I really was. You’re a grown adult. I got you upstairs and I got you undressed. I was trying to take care of you because I may or may not have feelings for you but I couldn’t help but notice the lipstick marks on your shirt. Or the smell of utterly cheap and disgusting perfume. It hurt far more than it should have. You’re your own man, Jean. I am just a damn dog sitter, but I have feelings for you. And knowing that you probably boned some hot blond chick in a bar made me upset-”

It all came in a rushed breath and by the time he was done, Marco couldn’t even look at Jean. He felt embarrassment crawl up his spine and turn his ears a burning shade of red. However, he was not even _done._

“-You kissed me, Jean. And not just some peck on the lips either. You had your tongue down my throat for a good thirty seconds or something like that. I know you didn’t mean it because you were too drunk off your ass to even remember what time it was.” Marco continued, sounding more bitter by the word.

All Jean can do is stare down at the other, somewhat grateful for the height now. The man didn't even realize how heavy his breath was or how glazed over his eyes must have looked to Marco. The idea that Jean had indulged himself with Marco sent half of the blood in his body right down to his groin, stirring to life something he did not realize was there.

Ok, so he might have realized it was there, but had tried to ignore it.

Leaning down, Jean leveled his lips with the shell of Marco’s ear, letting the words drip from his tongue in a such a sensual tone that he could almost feel Marco’s breath hitch.

“Did you like it?”

“What?” Marco questioned, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. He assumed that Jean would take the news like the homophobic he pretended to be. Marco assumed that Jean would ask him to leave and that would be the end of it. Marco assumed that this would be the end of his friendship with Jean. His awkward and weird friendship with Jean. 

Obviously, Marco miscalculated Jean’s response.

“Did.You.Like.It?” Jean repeated, his voice an octave lower than before. It sent shivers down Marco’s spine and caused the rosiness from his ears to spread to his freckled cheeks.

Marco couldn’t find the will to lie.

“There are not many things I like down my throat, Jean-” Marco murmured in response, trying to act coy but Jean saw right through it. “-Your tongue is something I don’t completely mind”

Marco was not completely sure where the hell those words came from, but they were out of his throat before he could even think twice about their meaning. 

Jean groaned, unintentionally bucking forward. “You’re a little shit, you know that” he murmured, a smirk tugging his lips upward. Jean moved and Marco thought this was his time to escape.

It wouldn't be the first time he was wrong. Jean took ahold of Marco’s arm and pulled him toward the bed. Letting out a yelp, the brunette didn’t have time to recover before he was thrown on the mattress, Jean ontop of him in a matter of mere seconds.

“I have a feeling you like it that way” Marco breathed out, kicking himself for saying something so stupid.

Jean granted Marco a smile. A smile of a predator about to swoop on its prey.

Leaning down, Jean pressed his lips hard against Marco’s. Eager to get in the other’s mouth again, Jean ran his tongue along Marco’s bottom lip. Grunting in approval when Marco opened his mouth, Jean dived in, letting his tongue explore each crevice and fold now that he was be able to remember it.

Hands come up and press against Marco’s chest, digging into the muscle that was just underneath his shirt.

“Fuck” Marco muttered between the mix of his mouth and Jean’s. The curse urged Jean on, rocking into the other’s hips. The feeling of Jean against him, a firm weight against his body, caused Marco to go into a euphoric high. Jean had never once heard Marco swear in any other instance and it made Jean's ego swell that Marco's grip on his own morals were spilling because of what Jean was doing to him. 

He wanted to explore and touch Jean. He wanted to get to know the other’s body. To learn all his erogenous zones and abuse them to his will. However, the rational part of his brain told him that it was a completely and utterly horrible idea to get this involved with Jean.

“Hmm. Hmph. hmph” Marco pushed against Jean’s forearms, trying to get the man to stop. Jean catches on pretty quickly, and removed his lips from Marco’s, reveling in how they look fully used now.

“We can’t-”

“Why not?” Jean mused, almost sounding wounded as he moved from Marco’s mouth to his neck, running a tongue across the boy’s pulse point, gently nipping at it.

Swallowing back a moan that could have been borderline pornographic, Marco tried to put his thoughts together so he could speak and not sound like an idiot.

“I don’t want some kind of one night stand, Jean” The brunette whispered, turning his head and looking at anything but Jean.

“What?” Jean sounded almost surprised by that Marco would ever think what they were doing was one night stand material.

“I am not like anybody you’ve met at that bar, or any bar for that matter. I don’t want some one night stand. I don’t to be a thing you can play with when you get bored. I am not going to be a live in fuck buddy for you” Marco stated, his mouth twisting into a frown.

Jean stared down at him, cocking his head to the side and letting the words sink into his brain. Marco was scared that Jean was going to use him. Truthfully, Marco had every right to think that.

It was obviously the night that Jean came home, he gave the distinct impression that he was a “Fuck and Go” kind of guy. Marco deserved so much more than that yet Jean was not sure how to form it into words so he could tell Marco that.

“You’re-...You’re not a one night stand..a fuck buddy..whatever you wanna call it, Marco” Jean chose his words carefully, not wanting to upset Marco further, but Jean was stuck between trying to be compassionate and listening to his hardening erection.

“I’m not the best guy to get with. I’m not even a mediocre guy to get with” he chuckled dryly. “But, if you were truly just something for me to fuck...your actions of this past week wouldn’t have affected me the way they had. It brought something out in me, something that scared me and made me panic because I thought you hated me-”

For the first time since meeting Jean, Marco saw the vulnerability hidden behind the sarcasm and quips. It hit Marco somewhere inside his heart that Jean was afraid of rejection.

And not just rejection, but rejection from none other than Marco.

Cool hands moved up to cup Jean’s face gently, a smile gracing Marco’s face. “Jean-”

“You’re too beautiful Marco. You’re too nice and loving for me to ever want a one night stand from you” the older man blurted, wanting to completely convince the other that Jean just didn’t want sex from him.

“I believe you” Marco smiled, flicking Jean’s nose so he would stop rambling.

“No Homo or anything like that though-” Jean added quickly, causing Marco to let out a brisk laugh before pulling Jean down and connecting their lips together once more.

The evening faded into night and dinner and Nikio had long been forgotten. Jean spent the next couple of hours worshiping Marco like he was a god. He touched every expanse of skin that Marco had to offer.

Ever nook and crevice he found either with his hands or his tongue. Marco was delectable and Jean found himself drowning in the touch that Marco provided.

Marco was no blushing virgin but the way Jean handled him had Marco whining and nearly begging for the other. Marco had never felt something so intense in his life and it left him in such a state of satisfaction.

The two collapsed beside each other in a tangled mess of arms and legs. Marco panted softly, trying to to catch his breath as Jean wrapped a firm arm around him and pulled him close.

They laid like that for a while, sitting in the afterglow and a pile of soiled sheets. Neither seemed to care enough to move. Turning to face Jean, Marco tucked his head into the crook of Jean’s arm, humming softly with a stupid, crooked smile on his face.

“I love you” he whispered, glancing at Jean. The older man’s eyes were close and his breath was even, indicators that he was asleep. Marco really didn’t mind, he had worn Jean out.

Distantly, the brunette could hear scratching against the back door. He faintly noted that Nikio was going to be pissed and would deserve a bucket full of treats. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a sex scene in this chapter but I removed it for two reasons. I couldn't finish writing it and I didn't want to up the rating on this story in case some people didn't want to read E-rated. However, I am still working on that sex scene and will post it as a stand alone later. Wish me luck! It shall be my first Smut thingy ever! 
> 
> IF you see any errors in my chapters, please feel free to message or comment, so I can fix them! Please and gracias!


	8. Papa Reiner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time passes and Marco and Jean are together...maybe. Its not really clear. What is clear is the large muscled man that seems far too nice for a man of his particular stature. Reiner is rather nice though, and seems to want to help Marco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'll make this short! Sorry for such a late update! This was beta-ed but it was quick and I have proofed it but if you see any errors feel free to tell me! I hope you enjoy! I hope I did Reiner some justice!
> 
> If you want to see more Bertolt and Reiner, go on over to the stand alone that is also in this series, "Home Comforts."

Marco was on cloud nine for the week that followed, even in the damp and icy weather that January had to offer. It seemed almost impossible but the brunette was smiling brighter than he ever had. It made Jean's heart tingle with some kind of warm sensation to know that he had caused that happiness. 

Their routine didn't seem to change much. It had not deviated far from where they started sometime in November or October. Neither male could begin to remember. 

However it had an added sparkle there now. Marco sent Jean off with a kiss to work and greeted him with one when he returned. In the hallway or laying in bed together, Marco would sneak in kisses that were unexplainably sweet and insatiable for Jean’s constant need to have Marco near him or touching him in some way.

It felt normal, yet Jean had not addressed Marco’s devotions of love. Marco would whisper it in bed as they cuddle together or he would chuckle as the words spilled from his mouth as they watched a movie together on the couch.

Jean had mused for a while on how the combination of a couch and Nikio had been the reason Marco was there.

Yet, Jean couldn’t reply with those same words, and it was not from the lack of trying. He tried a considerable amount to repeat to Marco the devotion that Marco seemed to hold for Jean. However, as he opened his mouth to ever utter those words, he felt his vocal cords seize up as if it was impossible to speak. At first, Jean assumed it was because he was nervous but after the fourth and fifth times, Jean was at a loss.

He could not say three little words to Marco. Words that should have been simple to say considering that they had already had sex. There was not much that could beat sex, except three small words that were beating Jean into a pulp. 

“Hey-...Jean! Earth to Jean!” Eren abruptly pulled Jean back to his cubicle where he was chewing on a pen cap without any really thought to his physical location and the ever present annoyance of his cube mate.

“Dude, you keep spacing out like that, you’re gonna lose your job” Eren commented with a shit eating grin. Jean rolled his eyes, as if anyone could replace him. Jean was damn good at what he did. 

\--

Marco was walking Nikio, forgoing the park today for a brisk walk around the neighborhood. The change of scenery was refreshing for both Marco and Nikio, who stopped several times to sniff spots where Marco could only assume that others dogs had marked as their property. 

Marco was zoning out, not really paying attention as the two made the trek back home after walking a few blocks. Marco had let Nikio simply walk himself after about twenty minutes. He was not really thinking about anything in particular. His mind was a mess of scattered thoughts between some of the canvases he had been working on and Jean. 

Mostly about Jean.

A sudden jolt on his arm brought Marco back to reality as Nikio pulled forward with an elated bark and jump. “Slow down boy!” Marco pleaded but there was no stopping the malamute.

Nikio was like a solid block of muscle and Marco was just a keychain he was dragging behind him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Marco wished he had not fed Nikio all those table scraps then he might not have been as large as he was.

The brunette panicked when he saw what the dog was heading for. Who the dog was heading for would be the more correct term. A tall, burly looking man that looked like a human version of Nikio if Marco was completely honest with himself. Of course, it didn’t matter how large a person was, a dog bite hurt either way.

And Marco really didn’t want to get punched in the face by this guy. He looked like he could cause Marco’s head to implode simply with his fist.

Oh, so that didn’t exactly sound right.

“Nikio!” Marco tried one last time before closing his eyes, waiting for the screams and growls. It never came as the leash went slack and Marco was no longer being drug around by the hundred plus pound dog. Surely Nikio just ate that guy. 

Cracking his eyes open, Marco was thoroughly shocked. The large malamute was rolled over on his back, tail wagging a mile a minute as the blond barbarian looking man rubbed his tummy. Well, surely that could have went a whole lot worse.

“You’re that guy that lives with Jean right?” the blond asked as he straightened back up and leaned against his mail box. He was much taller now that Marco was only a few feet from him. 

When the guy gave him a strange look, Marco realized that he had not said a word. “Y-Yeah” he stumbled out with a smile as he held Nikio’s leash tightly, not wanting him to run off again, but the way dog was sitting at the other man’s feet, Marco doubted that would be a problem. “Marco”

“Reiner.” The man held out his hand and Marco took it with a smile. “I’ve seen you over there for a while now. I didn’t realize that Jean had come to terms with his sexuality” Reiner chuckled, leaning back against his mail box and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Sucking in a breath, Marco was not sure how to reply to that. He was pretty sure that Jean would not be happy with Marco going around the neighborhood and spouting out their business, but Reiner seemed rather sure of himself on the subject at hand. It would be safe just to play ignorant for the time being. 

“I’m just a dog sitter-” He informs the other, which did nothing but cause Reiner to bark out a laugh. 

“Kid, I’ve never heard of a live-in dog sitter, have you?” Reiner threw back at Marco, letting the brunette squirm a little bit. 

Marco didn’t have time for a response as Reiner turned, waving in the direction of his house. “Come on inside. Be neighborly and what not” he said, already walking up the driveway.

“Look. I really can’t. I have Nikio-”

“Nonsense! We have a backyard! Come on. I’d be insulted if you didn’t” Riener called over his shoulder. Twisting his lips slightly and exhaling deeply, Marco paused for a brief minute before following the blond man. Marco really didn’t want to be rude.

The inside of Reiner house was magnificent, and the large windows only make rooms look even bigger than they already were. Marco was surprised to find there was a bit of style in the furniture and color scheme, not really expecting that from the mass of muscle that was Reiner. 

Once Marco is fully inside, Reiner closes the front door and gingerly takes the leash from Marco. Nikio doesn’t seem to mind and is already making himself at home. However, the dog never gets a chance at the couch, which seems to be the animal’s favorite piece of furniture, and is ushered into the back yard.

“Sit. Sit.” Reiner commands and the tone of voice is enough for Marco to bend his knees and flop down on one of the armchairs ever so gracefully. 

Reiner disappears into the kitchen and Marco can hear chinaware being sorted through. “Anything particular in taste that you want?” Reiner called and Marco was not sure how to reply to that. When, once again, he waited too long to answer, the blond poked his head back into the living room. 

“Marco?”

“I.. anything I suppose. I’m not particularly picky”

“I can imagine. You live with Jean” Reiner smirked before disappearing back into the kitchen. Marco was not sure if he was supposed to be embarrassed or offended. He doesn’t come to an answer when Reiner returns, placing two cups of steaming tea on the coffee table. Marco was sure his face portrayed the shock.

Reiner was just full of surprises. For such a burly man, he had some interesting qualities about him. 

“Well, let me introduce myself better” Reiner began, leaning back on the couch, his own tea now in his hands.

“I’m Reiner Braun.” he said, cocking an eyebrow at Marco.

“...Oh! Bodt! Marco Bodt” Marco choked out, having been caught drinking deeply from the mug. Reiner knew how to make some tea. It had a particular taste to it. 

“I would introduce you to my husband, but he’s a hermit. Works in his office all days and hates to be bothered. He’s a bit on the shy side too, but I assure you that Bertolt would be delighted to meet you”

Reiner continued to talk for a bit, touching on shortly on the aspects of his life. He was a general contractor and his husband, “Berti”, worked as a graphic designer and emerged himself in his work like he was working in a corner office and not at home. It was rather admirable that Bertolt chose to work as hard as he could, even if his job didn’t necessarily call for it. 

He continued to talk about his own work for a bit, telling Marco how he built some of the houses in this neighborhood before he met Bertolt. A warm smile spreads across Marco’s face as Reiner talks about his husband.

Marco could clearly see how happy Bertolt made Reiner, simply by the way the blond made chatted away about him. It seemed that Reiner could never run out of things to say about Bertolt. 

“So what is it like living with Jean?” Reiner asked, finding that he was probably talking Marco’s ear off. “That guy used to mope around all the time when Annie left. A week wouldn’t go by without catching a glimpse of his drunk ass stumbling home or tripping up on his back porch.”

Spine stiffening slightly, Marco stop just short of taking the last gulp of tea. Jean had mentioned Annie only once and that was before the official start of their relationship. Marco was not sure how Reiner knew or if Jean even liked Reiner. 

Maybe Marco should have thought about that before he entered Reiner’s home. It was a bit too late for that now, though. 

Realizing that he might have said something he shouldn’t have, Reiner coughed softly and put his mug down. “I didn’t mean any harm by bringing up Annie. I’m not sure what he’s told you about her-”

“Not much” Marco said subconsciously, staring intently down at his mug, swirling the last bit of liquid in it. 

“I figured he would have at least told you about her. You are his ‘live in dog walker’” Reiner commented, eyes searching Marco for a reaction this time.

“I mean. He mentioned her. He..he said he had been married before” Marco offered, eyes flicking away from Reiner’s stare. Marco was not sure if the other knew how intimidating he really was. 

Leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, Reiner let out a breath through his nose. “I only ask because I think you deserve to know, Marco. Its the reason I stopped you outside”

“What are you talking-”

“How much do you truly know about Jean?” Reiner inquired, absentmindedly pushing the spoon in his empty mug around. 

That stopped Marco in his tracks, mouth slightly ajar as he thought about what Reiner had said. The brunette didn’t really know that much about Jean. 

He worked as an accountant but Marco didn’t even know the name of the company. Jean enjoyed whiskey more than he did vodka and had a taste for mexican food more than he did Thai. 

“I don’t.”

“Would you like me to tell you about Annie and Jean? Not to spite you. Not to make you second guess yourself. But to inform you.”

Marco was nodding before he could actually answer with his voice.

Annie Leonhart had been a pretty young thing that striking blue eyes and a head full of blonde hair. She was a no nonsense kind of woman. She had been friends with Reiner and eventually became friends with Bertolt. 

She met Jean when she was leaving Reiner’s home one evening. Jean had just moved into the neighborhood, and Annie had backed right into Jean’s car as he was driving by, on his way home from a long day of work.

Reiner couldn’t help the laugh that rumbled deep inside his chest as he described how the two had gotten out of their respective cars and cussed at each other like teenagers.

“Must have been a hell of a first date” Marco commented.

They did go out on dates a few times, Reiner had respectfully informed Jean that Annie was their friend and he wouldn’t hesitate to snap him in half if anything happened that Annie didn’t want. Most of their dates usually began or ended in Trost Park. 

“I’ve actually never seen him go into that park again until you came around.”

Annie simply adored the nature there. It was like being outside the city gave her a sort of comfort. 

About a year down the road, the two of them got married. It was a small ceremony with a few people. None of Jean’s family had been there. 

Reiner stopped and seemed to contemplate continuing or not. “I knew Jean drank. I think everyone in the neighborhood did. But what man doesn’t drink right?”

Jean didn’t stop drinking was the problem. Annie couldn’t stand it, and their fights could constantly be heard across the perfect green lawns and towering fences. Jean would simply drink more.

“He drank through their entire marriage” Reiner spat out in disgust. 

Annie had spent more than a few nights sleeping over at Reiner’s home. The woman would always insist that its just what married couples did. They fought, and a few days later they would be fine.

And, just like Annie predicted, they were fine just a few days later. A few months later, Annie announced she was pregnant. Bertolt had gushed over the woman the entire time she had the baby, and Bertolt probably cried just as hard as Annie when she had a miscarriage.

Marco choked on his breath as he looked at Reiner. “Oh my god. She must have been devastated.” he breathed, not able to imagine the kind of pain a woman could go through by losing a child that she had not yet been able to hold. 

“She was. That was her child. She had already started collecting toys, thinking of names and even picking out colors for the nursery. She told me at one point that she was going to name it Armin. Said it meant something along the lines of ‘Warrior or Soldier.’”

“Thats what all that stuff was in the closet” Marco whispered, remembering the small room at the end of the hallway when he had done a thoroughly cleaning of Jean’s house. It held toys for small children, and two or three buckets of paint that were still sealed.

“Annie didn’t want to talk about it, but she had asked for a divorce while she was still in the hospital.” Reiner continued. “The only time she went back was when I went with her to gather her things. Jean wasn’t there. He actually went missing for a couple days.”

Reiner snorted a bit, sounding as if he didn’t care if Jean went missing again. “He showed back up, drunk as skunk and smelling petride. Nearly knocked my damn door down while I was at work, looking for Annie. If it wasn’t for Bertolt, I probably would have went over to his home and showed Jean how to really knock down a fucking door”

“I assume, you and Jean, don’t get along” Marco interjected. That was something that was rather significant. Surely if Reiner had a distaste for Jean, Marco should take what he said with a grain of salt. 

However, Reiner had been so open and friendly before hand, Marco found it hard to not at least half-way believe what he had to say. He seemed genuine when he had told Marco that he just wanted to inform the other, not hurt him.

“We don’t see eye to eye. Never really have” Reiner replied. “But, I’ve seen you around Marco. I’ve seen you with Jean. I knew there was a reason Jean had been acting differently.” the blond man told the other.

“I am not trying to break up your little…’Dog walking’ service you have with Jean. But you have a right to know that Jean has his downs. A lot of downs. As I am sure you’ve seen.” Reiner stated.

“I mean, yeah, he drinks but-” Marco stopped, remembering the night Jean came home with lipstick on his shirt collar. So maybe drinking and Jean didn’t really go together, but Jean was not naturally a bad person. 

“I understand what you are trying to do, and I thank you for it. But I’m not a kid” Marco said, not wanting to offend Reiner.

“Neither was Annie, and Jean nearly destroyed her with his actions” Reiner said, leaning back against the couch and rubbing his temples. “Understand Marco, I do this because I’ve seen what Jean and his...habits, do to people. And you seem like a decent person. I’d hate for him to ruin you too.”

Marco felt a bit of anger rise in him. Reiner was being rather brazen at this point and Marco’s mouth twisted into a very displeased frown. Jean had his faults but every normal person had demons to deal with. Even Marco. Even Reiner. 

Yet, Reiner was trying to do this to protect Marco, as the blond put it. And the entire time, Marco couldn’t detect a hint of malicious, and the brunette was usually good at reading tones. Either way, Marco was not entirely sure what to do with this information.

“Nobody is going to ruin me. I’m my own person, Reiner. The only person who can ruin me, is me” Marco replied and he could see the sad smile behind Reiner’s eyes. 

“Of course. I hope you remember that.” Reiner stood, stretching his legs out and looking outside. “Its getting dark, would you like to stay for dinner?”

Marco jerked his head towards the window. He hadn’t realized that it had gotten that late and stood as well. “Maybe some other time, I’m already late starting dinner at home.”

Marco had said it before he could catch himself, and Reiner simply gave him a knowing look. “Well, scoot on then. And if you need anything, don’t be afraid to walk down here. You’re always welcomed here, Marco.” The large man said, going to retrieve Nikio, who somehow ended up in Bertolt’s office and sitting at Bertolt’s feet. 

\--

Marco ends up ordering take out and waiting for Jean to get home. Reiner’s words are still swimming in his head and Marco is not entirely sure what to do with the new information he has. He’s not mad at Jean, if that is what Reiner was trying to do.

Marco actually falls more in love with Jean. He wants to wrap Jean up in a large hug that lasts forever and make sure the mousy haired man is never hurt ever again. 

When Jean gets home, he asks why Marco didn’t cook and the brunette brushes it off with the excuse that he had gotten lost in his paintings and school work. Jean accepts the answer and they eat in silence for a while. Jean notes that Marco is being quieter than usual but does not push the boy about it.

“So, I met some of the neighbors while I was walking Nikio today” Marco stated, not sure how good of an idea it was to bring up Reiner and Bertolt.

“I forgot I had neighbors” the man replied, mouth full of greasy Mexican food. He didn’t sound mad. Jean actually sounded very stoic and Marco felt relief wash through his body and decided to leave the subject at that. 

For a while after that, Marco just watches Jean eat. He can’t look at Jean the same way, knowing that Jean had lost so much in just a few years. A baby and a wife all in the same swoop. Marco assumed that was why Jean drank so much, but Reiner had informed him that Jean had a drinking problem before Annie.

There was something else that was hurting Jean from the inside and Marco resolved that he would do everything in his power to help Jean. To make sure Jean never hurt again and would never need to comfort of another bottle.

A smile spreads across Marco’s lips as he takes a bite of the remaining food in the styrofoam box. “Why so smiley all of a sudden?” Jean mutters, not even looking up from his food.

“Nothing.” Marco chirps, eyes glistening slightly with a bit of happiness. Jean was his and he was going to take care of Jean. Jean deserved to be happy. 

“So...Are you sleeping in the same bed tonight?” Marco asked, moving from one subject to another. He had asked that question every night since they had sex, as if Jean was going to magically change his mind one night.

“We are a couple, Marco. What do you think?” Jean asked, finally looking up with a cocked eyebrow. It seemed impossible, but Marco beamed even more. 

“Just asking” Marco chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the blush there. 

\--

“Reiner?”

“hmmm?” the man grunted out, deep into reading his book with Berti tucked into the crook of his arm as they laid in bed together. Bertolt was mindlessly watching some muted T.V show, not really paying attention but instead running a hand up and down Reiner’s arm. the brunette can’t help but let his eyes flicker up their ceiling to floor windows that ran parallel to their bed. It was dark outside but berti could still see the outline of Jean’s house. It was a dark silhouette against the cluster of other houses. 

“I wonder if Marco knew the curtains were drawn back” he chuckled, crossing his ankles and settling further into his lover. “I doubt it sweetheart. They did seem to be lost in the moment” Reiner replied as he flipped to the next page of his book.


	9. Showing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The theory goes along the lines that something that goes up, usually comes down. That can probably apply to relationships and Jean’s life. Jean can’t help but let himself still deny what both Marco and himself feel.

It was sometime in the afternoon when Marco got a call on his cellphone. It was a lazy Saturday. Jean was situated in the kitchen,drinking the last of the morning coffee while Marco had camped out in the living room, Nikio curled up on the floor below the couch. Marco was surprised how loud a dog could actually snore. Curled up under several quilts in his ninja turtle underwear, the man was finishing up some coursework online when his butt began to vibrate. 

Arching upward and off the couch, he ignored the slight groan he heard from the kitchen as he grabbed his phone that had snuck between the couch cushions. “It should be illegal for you to arch your back like that.” Jean stated as he moved into the living room to get a better view.

“Hush” The brunette chuckled as he threw a pillow at the other before answering his phone. He wasn’t on it long, but the conversation was obvious a good one because the smile that spread across his face could almost outshine the sun. It did nothing but pique Jean’s curiosity. He was a good boy, however, and waited until his younger lover was off the phone before inquiring who it was that had called.

“Oh my god. You won’t believe it. I-I don’t even believe it right now.” Marco chimed, clutching the remaining pillow that he had snagged. Jean would have much rather had the brunette squeezing him. Taking a sip of herbal tea (something Marco swore by), Jean motioned for the other to continue talking.

“An Art Gallery wants to show some of my pieces” Marco beamed, his eyes bursting with such happiness and excitement. “My work and a few other students’ who are taking classes like me.” he added. He was bouncing now, full of excitement and happiness that was dangerously infectious. Even Nikio seemed to feel it, stirring from his slumber and stretching out across the floor. 

“That is wonderful, Marco.” Jean said, offering a gentle smile of his own, shifting across the couch to press a chaste kiss against Marco’s forehead. That only seemed to lift Marco’s spirits even higher. 

“I’m so excited. I just can’t believe it. I don’t even know what pieces to pick. There is so much I still need to finish. I need to pick my canvases at the studio. Maybe I can work in a new project before its time-”

Jean hushed the other, handing off his mug to the boy before standing. “You gotta breath, Cupcake. “ he instructed the other. He ignored the sharp look Marco threw at him, assumingly for the use of such a creative nickname. 

“But someone wants to see my art! They want to put it on the wall! They might even want to sell it! Do you understand how amazing that is? That someone else has seen all the work and dedication I’ve put into something? I cannot even fathom any one person that would want to even glance at my portraits or landscapes. Much less a large group of people!” 

Hopping off the couch, Marco rubbed his hands together in a nervous habit. “Oh Tartar Sauce” he cursed out. “What if there is a bunch of people there?” He asked, looking over at Jean.

And for the entirety of their relationship, Jean couldn’t remember Marco ever really looking to him for help. Jean had leaned so heavily on Marco these past months and it finally dawned on him that Marco hadn’t asked for anything in return. Now, though, he needed Jean. He was looking for some kind of comfort that a lover would offer and Jean was more than happy to give it to him.

Wrapping strong arms around the small male, Jean pulled him close and buried his face into the soft hair that smelled slightly of lavender. Marco had some of the girliest toiletries for a guy. “You’re supposed to enjoy this, not freak out over it.” he informed the other, a smile spreading across his lips as he felt tense muscles relax against him.

“Just breath. Be happy and enjoy this opportunity. Someone knows you’re gifted and they want to show the world that.” 

“Trost is not the world”

“It is our world” Jean countered, as he moved his hand to hold Marco’s chin, tipping it upward. “No matter how small. Now come on. I am sure you have a lot to do before your big day” he said, a smile slipping across his face.

\---

Jean happily joined Marco the night of the viewing. It was nothing small but surely doubled the size of a sweet sixteen or something like that.There were people in suits and ties, women in small cocktail dresses and a few servers running around with appetizers on a silver tray. 

Marco was nearly glowing the entire night. He had been a nervous wreck at the house, hands shaking as he had tried to put on his tie and failing each time. Jean’s own gentle touch and a few heated kisses calmed the other and almost put Marco in a daze of happiness and love.

When they had arrived, the brunette had flourished among other artists there. He was bright and cheerful, bouncing from one conversation to another once he got started. He twirled around the room, laughing at jokes and flushing as people praised his works and personality all in the same breath.

A piece that was particularly popular among both Marco’s personal works and the entire gallery was a body composition. The face was halfway faded out, defined lines of the jaw lighten the farther up the page they went. Thin, black paint strokes created the midsection and the arms that stretched out to the sides and grabbed earnestly onto two thick chains at his side. The defined torso bled into toned thighs that faded at just as the face did, near the bottom of the canvas. 

Across the black and white base, Marco had splattered red paint in random places across the surface area. He had titled it “Lost and in Pain.”

It was not as colorful as some of the other pieces scattered across the room, and not nearly as elaborate, but Jean was drawn to it, just like many others. It held a certain quality and aura that made the piece so magical and sad all at the same time. 

Marco had already been labeled as an artist who enjoyed capture vibrate and beautiful scenes and this one particular piece was the only one different from the rest that were being shown under his name. 

“Hey.” Marco smiled, placing a large hand on Jean’s shoulder, offering the man some champagne. “You looked a bit lonely over here.” he added, watching the other swallow down some of the alcohol. 

“Not really. I was just enjoying the sights.” Jean mumbled with a smirk flitting across his face. “Its really nice work here. From you and everyone else that they are showing tonight.” Jean felt as if he needed to compliment Marco’s work once more, even after he had gushed over the pieces at home when Marco had chosen them.

“Thank you.” Marco chirped as he sipped on his own drink, standing rather close to the other. Jean felt a bit uncomfortable in such a crowded area to be snuggling up against Marco. Yet the brunette didn’t seem to mind at all that people were staring at them like they were some kind of freak show. 

“Come on.” Marco said suddenly, having caught a glimpse of his art professor. Taking Jean’s hand carefully and delicately, he moved through the crowds and stopped before the older man and a few of his colleagues.

“Marco. Wait. Hold on-”

“Ah! Theres my boy! I was just talking about you.” the whited haired senior chuckled as he motioned to the three men beside him. “These are the ones I was telling you about before. The professors from the New York University.” 

“It is good to meet you all.” Marco smiled, extending his hand to shake in respect and admiration. “I am Marco Bott. And this is Jean, my boyfr-”

“Friend.” Jean corrected swiftly, moving his hand away from Marco’s own palm. “I am one of his friends.” he continued, eyes shying away from the men in front of him. He felt like they were judging his fiercely now, because there was no way that they didn’t catch what Marco had tried to say.

When he was brave enough to look back up, he cringed internally at the look of pure shock plastered on Marco’s face. The shock melted away of course, and was replaced by molten anger and humiliation. Jean tried to play it off, but surely only made it worse. “Marco told me about this and didn’t want to come alone. I was happy enough to join him. Couldn’t leave my best bro hanging right?” he chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pant suit pockets. 

“Excuse me.” Marco said, voice shaking a bit as he moved away from the others, acting as if he had been flagged down by another set of people. Jean was left to sputter and make an even bigger fool of himself in front of the first set of gentleman before he moved away from them as well.

He tried to find Marco and even at times, tried to corner him but with no luck. Marco was avoiding him and making it painfully obviously. It was pissing Jean off more than it was making him worried. Marco was acting like such a brat, literally over nothing of importance.

By the time they finally meet back up to leave, Jean had gotten into a wine bottle or two. He was not completely shit faced, because at this point in life, a whole vineyard couldn’t get Jean drunk. He stumbled a bit, bumping into people as Marco walks ahead of him to the car, not even offering help. 

\---

“That was real cute, Jean.” The venom is seeping from each letter, coated in acid and bitterness. Of course, Jean just ignores him, removing his tie. Marco had spent the entire car ride in silence, the mousy haired man didn’t see why he wanted to talk now.

“No clue what you’re talking about” He replied in such an even tone that he could almost hear the frustration and aggravation building inside of Marco. He feels the rush of air as Marco passes him, heading straight for the liquor cabinet and Jean had to hide his sudden amusement. Marco couldn’t hold a candle to an appletini nor could he to dark liquor.

“We have been dating almost for a month now. A month. And have been dancing around each other long before that.” Marco snapped, pulling out a half empty bottle and opening it. Without so much as a flinch, Marco downed two swallows before choking and nearly spitting it all back. Placing the bottle down with a hard slam against the closest hard surface, the brunette didn’t notice the small trail of alcohol running from the corner of his mouth. “Our Anniversary is in two days. That doesn’t seem to matter though, since you’re just a friend, right?” he spat out, angry with Jean for how easily he could just squash him in front of others.

“You completely and utterly embarrassed me in front of my professor and other artists alike! Not only that but you so openly denied my love that it makes me wonder if you truly just wanted to bone me an have a live in fuck!”

“Look, they don’t need to know our business, Marco. You hardly know these people. You don’t owe them anything. Not an explanation about us, whatever we are.” Jean said, motioning at the space between them. The fact that Jean had corrected Marco on whether or not that they were lovers had been automatic for him. He didn’t mean to do it, but the panic that had rose in his throat caused him to blurt out before he could think. Now he was paying for it and wished he could at least drink to ease the tension and anger, but wouldn’t dare try with a pissed off Marco standing guard at the cabinet. 

“Oh, Bullshit!” Marco all but yelled as he through his hands up into the air. “You!” he pointed an accusing finger at Jean and snarled at him. Jean had to get over the mild shock of such vulgar language leaving Marco’s lips. Marco had never really used curse words, but now it surprised Jean on how easily one just slip past his lips. “You just don’t want anyone to know that you like to shove your dick up ass! News Flash! Nobody fucking cared other than you Jean! You are the one that made it into a big deal!” Alright, so sudden shock of curse words was over. It was easily replaced by a bit of bad temperament on Jean’s part. 

Marco rubbed his temples, the threat of tears stung the corners of his eyes, but he pushed them back. Jean didn’t deserve his tears at this point. “Are you ashamed of me, Jean? Or are you ashamed of yourself? What is it? You give off so many mixed signals and suggestions and then push me away only to pull me back.” the brunette whispered, trying to get a straight answer from the other. 

And this time, Jean was the angry one. He didn’t quite understand why he was furious with Marco. He had no right to be, because everything that Marco had said or asked had some kind of validation behind it. Yet, once again, his reply was so automatic that he couldn’t think before he opened his mouth to speak. 

If Jean was honest with himself, which he never really was on most occasions, he could tell himself that it was probably Marco’s openness that angered him. Jean had suffered, still did, for many years over his sexuality. He had been through hell and back because of the faintest interest in boys. 

Marco didn’t seemed as affected. He didn’t seem scarred or hurt in anyway by his choice of lovers and that angered Jean for some reason he could not fully understand. 

“Not everyone is comfortable with being a faggot. I’m sorry I don’t flail around here like a damn princess and fucking use body wash like a girl and wanna be fucked like a girl. Not everyone is like that. Not everyone is a damn queer, Marco. Not like you.” 

And it was out there and Jean could have punched Marco in the gut and it would have hurt less. Bright eyes dimmed and Marco was silenced in such a sudden swoop of words. 

Marco had words ready for another blow, but no longer had the fire to say them. Jean had taken Marco down to the knees and Marco knew it. Jean hit low, really low and it twisted the inside of Marco’s heart. That word held so much hate and disgust that a few tears did eventually run down his cheeks and created wet stains on his shirt.

“I’m leaving for tonight. Its obvious you need some time alone. Don’t call me.” the brunette threw over his shoulder as he moved down the hallway to gather some of his things. He was not entirely sure where he was going, but anywhere was better than here. The harsh nip of cold weather was far better than the burns inflicted by Jean’s hot words. 

A switch, somewhere deep inside the caverns of Jean’s mind flipped, and it caused him to spiral into a rage that even scared him at this point. Marco was leaving him and there was a side of Jean that cannot and woud not agree to this information. He cannot lose Marco, but at the same time, he is the one that pushing him away. 

Its all a sudden rush that Jean wishes he could control. His anger has tipped over a boiling point and it is like he has blacked out and body running purely on emotion and adrenaline. He watched as Marco collected a few of things from the master bedroom. Turning fully around, the mousy haired man moved towards the guest bedroom, where Marco kept the rest of his things. Most of his art supplies were in there, along with the canvases and sketches he worked so hard on and got him to where he was now. He flung the door open, the wood crashing against the burgundy wall of the room and dent to form on the site of impact. 

Canvases filled with various swirls of color and shape lined the wall. Albeit they were not his best work, which was rightfully displayed at that stupid fucking art function, but these would do. Art was Marco’s life. 

“Take your damn peices of shit too!” He snarled out, picking up the closest one and flinging it out of the room, successfully breaking the frame of it. He didn’t stop there, and threw several more out into the hallway, creating a pile of broken and strewn canvases. He scattered the various sketchbooks across the floor, tearing pages out and crumbling them in his hands.

Several tubes of paint were across the dresser and he destroyed those as well, slamming them on the floor and stomping on them, scattering paint across the guestroom in the process. “Do you honestly think anyone cares about this stupid shit other than you?! Do you honestly think anyone cares about you?!” Jean yelled, seeing red at the point.

He looked up, the brunette in question standing at the door frame. His body was shaking and Jean could see the streaks of tears running down Marco’s face. Jean had destroyed Marco’s passion and love without much remorse. But the look of pure disgust, grief, anger and utter heartache mixed together in Marco’s dark eyes pulled at Jean’s common sense. He could have outright assaulted Marco and he would have not nearly been as upset. 

Eyes moving across the mess of papers and art media across the floor, Jean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Marco-” he said, reaching out for the other, only to have Marco flinch away from him like a scared animal and move down the hall.

“Marco!” Jean yelled, moving after the other. He was in the living room by the time the front door slammed shut behind Marco. 

\---

He walks because he was not sure what else to do. His feet drag him along against the cold night through a rich neighborhood full of people who probably didn’t care for the young ‘ruffian’ walking in their streets in the middle of the night. Marco found that he really didn’t care for those particular people, Jean Kirchstein included.

And he couldn’t say that with full honesty because Marco cared deeply for Jean, otherwise the sudden fight they had just had wouldn’t have bothered him that much. The fact that Jean had rejected him publicly wouldn’t have torn his heart into two. He wouldn’t be furious at Jean while at the same time, wanting to return home and curl up into Jean’s arms.

Jean wouldn’t mean the world to him, but he did. Marco had fallen so hard and so fast that he should have seen this coming. Jean was a broken man, struggling with his own demons, there was no way a kid like Marco could even begin to fix him.

Not that he wanted to. Jean was perfect in a different kind of way. He was a hard working man that held a tender side. All he needed was the right type of love. A love in which Marco thought he could give. A love that Jean had so wholeheartedly rejected in front of the world.

Maybe Marco was being a bit melodramatic, but that is what it felt like to him. 

Coming back to his senses, Marco found himself at a house that was familiar to him, if the large windows were any kind of indicator to who the owner was. He was knocking before it registered to him that was in the middle of the night.

Reiner opened the door like he was ready to beat the early morning visitor into a bloody pulp before his eyes casted on Marco and they softened just a slight degree. He leaned against the door frame for a minute and took in Marco’s disheveled form before moving to the side.

“Come on in, sweetheart.” Reiner stated and Marco graciously took the invitation. Reiner had been so open and warm before and that is exactly what Marco needed at this point. 

He settled the boy on the couch, not prying too deep tonight. They would have plenty of time in the morning to talk, if Marco chose to. Reiner already knew it had something to do with Jean and he had half a mind to take a trip down to the asshole’s place to teach him a thing or two about pain.

The physical kind anyway. 

Involving some kind of blunt object. 

Giving Marco ample amount of blankets and pillows and the promise of an open kitchen if he needed anything, Reiner went back to bed to get some rest himself. Shuffling back under the covers, Reiner pulled Bertolt close. He couldn’t begin to imagine how distraught he would be himself if Bertolt was ever in the same distress as Marco.

It was some time later, maybe an hour or so when Bertolt stumbled into the living room in search for a late night swallow of water. He didn't have to strain his ears hard to hear the sound of hiccupping sobs emitting from the mountainous pile of covers sitting on the couch. 

Bertolt knew. It was like a second sense to him and Reiner. Without a word, because honestly that would only make it worse for Marco, the taller man paddled over to the off white couch and sat down carefully. 

He dug through the pile of pillows and blankets, finding a shaking and trembling youth wallowing in his own heartbreak. "Come here." Bertolt coaxed gently, pulling the other into his arms. It didn't stop Marco from bawling uncontrollably, but it showed him that he wasn't alone. It gave Marco that comforting shoulder that he needed. 

Something that Jean was not willing to give him at the moment, it seemed. 

Bertolt found it slightly disheartening that this was the first time the two of them actually met but there was not much he could do to change that now. 

He ran gentle fingers across the other's back, humming some unnamed song in an attempt to soothe the boy. The sobs only intensified and racked Marco to the core. Marco was hurting so much and it felt like his heart was on fire with such an intense emptiness from that pain. 

He never really believed in the whole true love thing. He believed in finding someone who he could gradually fall in love with. Truth of the matter was that Marco had not known Jean long enough to truly love him and he might have been acting a bit irrational, but it was like his body and mind were on two different wave links. 

He couldn’t begin to describe it. Marco had spent most of the time on the couch trying to rationalize the situation but couldn’t. He went through all the things that he could have done better. 

Maybe if he had not made Jean mad. Maybe if he had not pressured Jean at the art gallery. Maybe Jean was right and nobody needed to know their business.

He clung to Bertolt for dear life as his mind continued to race past normal speed. It was not much longer until his body tired out and his eyes fluttered shut and his hands slightly loosened their grip on Bertolt’s biceps. 

Bertolt didn’t dare leave the boy and moved back slightly, letting Marco lay on him. “Everything's gonna be alright, sweetheart.”


	10. Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams are usually the gateway to the mind and even the past. Lets open the door to Jean's past and see what makes him so bitter and angry at the world. Maybe that whole cause and effect thing applies to people too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow. About a month later I finally update. I'm such a good author, I could never meet deadlines. Obviously school has been a bit of a hassle with things wrapping up at the end of the year. This chapter was hard to churn out because of trying to work out some kinks in it. 
> 
> This is has not been beta read as of right now. My betas are extremely busy, but I have read over this several times. However, if you find something, feel free to tell me so I can fix it! 
> 
> So without further delay, I present you with chapter 10/15. Oh look! Not that many left!!

_The early afternoon sunlight drifted softly past blue curtains. A gentle breeze passed through the open window and brushed against mousy hair. Jean scrunched his eyes together, trying to ignore the annoying brightness that beckoned him to get up. It was too early, even if it was far past ten, which was the usual time his mother woke him up._

_Eyes fluttered open and Jean took a moment to realize that his mother had not woken him up. Slowly, his senses came to him one by one and the small child realized that he couldn’t hear his mother at all. Usually the kitchen was buzzing with life, especially on a Sunday morning._

_The radio would be playing something catchy while his mother twirled around the kitchen, making some kind of brunch that always consisted of pancakes and fresh fruit. There was silence today. He didn’t hear the radio nor his mother and not even his father, who was usually shouting obscenities at the T.V._

_“Mum?” He called softly, still in a sleepy stupor as he sat up in bed, simultaneously pushing some of his his several hundred plushies off the bed. He didn’t get an answer and shrugged. She might have been outside hanging up some clothes to dry. She did that more often than not when the summer months rolled around._

_Small feet reached out from underneath the covers to touch the floor, finally getting up and out of bed to go in search for his mother. He was not sure why, but Jean had a sudden urge to see her. To physically touch her and hug her and beg her for that last ice cream sandwich in the back of the freezer even though he already knew she was going to say no._

_“Mum?” His voice echoed through the house as he moved to the doorway, leaning out slightly to check the hallways. His father might be sleeping or outside, Jean could never be sure most days._

_Waiting only a few moments, Jean scurried down the hall and towards the kitchen, finding that no one was there either. His small mind began to wonder. His house was never this quiet and it was strange. The kitchen windows were open, letting in the same breeze that stirred him from sleep. The chairs were pushed into the table and there was no indication that anyone had been in there that morning._

_There was mail on the counter, which Jean could almost see over. Everyday since his birthday, Jean had been measuring his height. One day, he was going to be taller than the yellow kitchen counter top, and he would be tall enough to pour his own juice and get his own glass from the cupboard._

_He didn’t bother to call out his mother’s name this time as he moved from the kitchen into the living room. The windows there were open as well. White lace curtains were drifting in the lazy summer wind as a fan to the far corner was buzzing in a sort of rhythmic way. The T.V was off and the remote laid tucked in the cushions of his father’s la-z-boy chair. From this view, through the windows, Jean could see the driveway but he couldn’t quite make out if his dad’s truck was gone or not. Yet the house was abnormally quiet which was never the case when his father was actually present._

_As he moved through the living room, that had two entrances as well as the front door along the walls, he noticed that a few things were out of place. There were several beer bottles on the coffee table, which was never a good sign, and even a couple on the carpeted floor. Some of the couch pillows were strewn across the living space and one of his Mum’s vases were shattered on the floor, pieces strewn every which way._

_The front door was open and the screen door was the only thing keeping Jean from exploring the outside world like he had done several times. His mum used to let him go outside all the time and play with the neighbor’s kids. They would have so much fun playing in the fort next door, or climbing trees and pretending to be monkeys.Then his father found out that one of the older boys were gay and Jean was forbidden from ever stepping foot over there._

_Jean was still very unsure what Gay even meant, but obviously it was something bad and horrible. He was to avoid the neighbors at all times, unless he catch the mysterious illness that plagued the older boy._

_He could see clearly now from the living room that his father’s truck was gone. The empty gravel driveway led all the way to the street and left a large expansion of land in between the small house and the pavement. Jean had several expeditions in the yard that summer so far, albeit, lonely expeditions that involved smashing ant hills and starring wondrously at the animals that crawled around the forest’s edge that ran parallel to the house._

_With a sigh of utter relief with the conformation of his father’s absence, Jean pressed forward on his mission. He had to find his mother. Surely she did not go with him if he took his truck instead of the family car. Just a few yards from the driveway, Jean could see the neighbors playing and longed to join them in the warm sunshine._

_But he wanted to see his mother first. He always saw her face first almost every morning and it felt wrong to exclude her from his life. It wasn’t fair to him Mum to leave her out of all the fun. It was very possible that she would want to go play as well._

_He scurried out of the living room and back into the hallway. The small child rubbed his eyes, forgetting about the sleep that had accumulated there over night._

_He dared to check in his parents’ bedroom next. The room was just as off limits as the next door kids and Jean had found himself on the end of a belt or two because of his curiosity. Jean had explicit orders not to go into the bedroom at all, regardless of what his mother said. His father always told him that he was the man of the house and had final say. After being punished the third time for it, Jean figured it out._

_His father was not there though. He was gone off into some unknown bar and Jean was sure he would hear the truck and be able to scurry back to his room before his father even took a step into the living room. He entered with caution, none the less, and glanced around. The bed was made and there was not a wrinkle to be seen._

_His mum’s dresser was to the far right, covered in all kinds of perfumes. Make-up was not something she adored like most women, but perfumes were her indulgence. Jean’s Father didn’t like her wearing perfumes and scents and almost excluded it all together. It never stopped her from sneaking in a few sprays here and there when they were going out to church or some other overly crowded function._

_As jean crept farther into the room, he was met once again with silence. The lights were off but the faint stream of sunlight entered through the long window above the bed. He could see the dust particulars floating through the air and some light escaping from under the bathroom door._

_Jean was lucky enough, or so his father would tell him, to live in a house that offered extra commodities that not all kids got. There were two bathrooms, for instance, one in his parent’s bedroom and the other just down the hall._

_Jean had rarely gotten this far into the bedroom without being caught and lashed with a leather belt, but the urge to find his mum was his driving force at this point, and thus he moved forward towards the cracked door._

_He caught a whiff of the familiar scent of body wash floating through the air. The comforting mix of cinnamon and spice apples that he associated with everything that was his mum. It crossed Jean’s mind that maybe Mum was taking a bath._

_She did that occasionally when Jean’s dad was out of the house. That was the only time it seemed peaceful enough to relax at all. She would sit in the tub for hours and hum softly. Jean always enjoyed his mother’s voice._

_The bathroom door creaked open ever so slowly, as if he was stuck in the middle of a b-rated movie his was never allowed to watch. He could faintly hear the dripping of a leaky faucet._

_“Mum?” His voice echoed off the cheap tiled walls as he pushed his way in further into the bathroom. Everything seemed normal and everything seemed to be fine until his eyes came to rest on the bathtub._

_Maybe it was the fact that he was still small and young, that his brain couldn’t quite comprehend the situation he just walked in on. He moved forward towards the tub, filled to the brim with cooling water. Swirls of diluted red skimmed the surface, creating patterns that would have otherwise been intriguing_

_Scented candles were placed across the small room, burned almost to the bottom and leaving wax puddles of different shades with only a small amount of life left to them. The mirrors, the small one on the medicine cabinet and the large one on the back of the door, were still fogged up from the steam._

_“Mum?” Jean murmured, stopping at the edge of the porcelain tub and gently nudging his mother. Her head moved slightly, turning and falling to the right a bit, causing the rest of her feather like hair to be engulfed by the water._

_“Mum. I’m hungry.” the small boy insisted. He nudged his mother’s arm again ,becoming slightly flustered that she was not waking up. Was she ignoring him? Had he done something to warrant some kind of punishment?_

_“Mu-u-um” He began to whine because it never ceased to fail to get his mother’s attention. He didn’t particularly like to whine. He had already been told by both his father and mother that whining was for toddlers and he was no longer a baby, but it was sort of his last line of action when he wanted attention._

_He huffed slightly, crossing his arms over his tiny chest and stomping his foot. “Mum!” he yelled out, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that his outburst would surely wake his mother and she would be startled and ask Jean why he wasn’t using his inside voice._

_She did not even move in the slightest, not even when the screen door creaked as it was opened and closed. Her eyes remained shut and her limbs very still as the sound of heavy boots echoed through the house and crossed the living room floor._

_“Maria?” His father was home, and by the waver in his voice, the boy could already tell before seeing the man that he was drunk. Or tipsy at the absolute least. Jean was never sure why his dad drank a lot. He had seen him fight with mum constantly before storming out of the house, only to return a few hours later smelling like perfume unlike his mum's and that nasty clear liquid that his father kept in the top cabinet in the kitchen._

_The small boy didn’t have time to dwell on his own thoughts for a minute before the footsteps reached the inner part of the bedroom and pushed the bathroom door open. “The hell are you doing in here kid?!” Joan snarled out, leaning against the door frame to steady himself out._

_“I couldn’t find mum.” Jean’s replied quietly, trying to make himself smaller as he stared up at his father. Joan’s dark mossy eyes glared down at the child as if he was the root of all evil in his life, before they moved over to the bathtub. “M-Maria..”_

_Large, calloused hands shoved Jean away from the tub and caused him to fall face first onto the tiled floor. “Maria! Baby. Come on. Wake up. Wake the fuck up!” Joan growled out, taking hold of his wife and pulling her from the bath tub for reasons he couldn’t even fathom._

_He stepped over Jean like he was nothing, leaving a trail of water droplets crossing into the bedroom. Much like the water in the tub, the watery trail across the floor was tinted with a diluted shade of red._

_“What's wrong with Mum?” Jean dared to open his mouth, glancing out from his post by the door as he watched his father place her on the bed. Joan looked distressed and drunk all at the same time. He leaned over her, listening for a heartbeat and cursing to high heavens when he didn’t hear anything._

_“You stupid bitch” Joan snapped out, shaking Jean’s mother in some vain attempt to get her to open her eyes. “You goddamn, stupid...fucking stupid...wake up!” he yelled, distress quickly merging into anger. He cupped her face for a sparse second or two before he slapped her across the face. Jean’s body jolted forward, wanting to protect his mother, but his common sense caught him last second. He should be running. It never took long for Joan’s anger to turn on Jean._

_Eyes like hellfire finally did turn to Jean and the boy realized that it was too late at this point. Jean had wasted his time being curious about the status of his mother. However, it didn’t stop Jean from trying to escape, even if it was in vain. His small frame ran for the door, but Joan caught him by the hair and jerked him backwards before the child could even see the hallway. “What the fuck did you do?!” His father yelled as Jean tried to squirm away, causing himself only more pain. “I didn’t do nothing!!” He tried to tell his father. How could Jean have done anything? He was still in his pajamas and stomach still empty. All he had been guilty of was trying to find his mum._

_“You did this! You caused this! This is all your fault!” Joan chanted like it was prayer. His grip on Jean’s hair never loosened as he dragged the boy out of the bedroom and down the hall. A noise ripped its way out of Jean’s throat as he noticed the direction they were heading. “No! Not the closet! I promise! I didn’t do anything! I was a good boy!! Please!!”_

_Jean can only scream once before the door is shut completely, cutting off any kind of light source the boy could have. The closet at the end of the hallway was a small one, yet it was stuffed to the brim with boxes and cleaning supplies, and now Jean as well. He couldn’t sit down, not with the amount of junk pressing him into the door and he had learned a long time ago that Joan never forgot to lock it, thus making escape impossible. It would only be years later, as a preteen would Jean be able to break the hollow wooden door._

_He couldn’t exactly tell how long he had been in the closet. Time was something the eluded him when trapped in complete darkness. However, he heard noises. He heard his father as the man sobbed uncontrollably for a good while. He heard the front door slam shut before opening once more. He heard things being shattered and broken. He heard a string of curse words and he heard several more voices after what seemed like an eternity._

_Someone else was in the house, and they were talking about Mum. Jean pressed his ear further to the door than it already was. “She was a good woman, Joan. And I don’t know why she decided to do this. I just really hope the best for you and your kid. I’m sure he’s devastated.”_

_“Yeah. Heartbroken.”_

_“Where is he, anyway? Don’t tell me that he was the one to find the body?”_

_“He’s staying with his grandmother for now. Won’t be be back till another couple of days. Thank god. Really. I can only imagine the kind of trauma it would have put him through to see his Mother like that.”_

_“Yeah. Tell me about it. Well. Let me just finish up here and we’ll ship the body down to the coroner's office. For legality reasons of course. Are you sure you’re gonna be alright, Joan?”_

_“Yeah. No. I don’t know. I loved her. She was my wife. Atleast...atleast I still have Jean. I don’t know what I would do if I lost both of them.”_

_Jean didn’t like the way his father said that. He didn’t like it at all, because Joan didn’t sound like a loving father at that point, not to Jean at least. Those last words sounded more like a threat, like Joan knew that Jean could hear them from the closet, and dared the boy to make a sound._

 

\-------

 

Jean’s eyes fluttered open and a gurgled groan escaped his lips. He could already feel the hangover and honestly, still felt drunk from his previous night’s excursion. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jean attempted to rack his brain for any valid information left. It was possible that he may have been out for more than a couple of days.

Hell, it could have been an entire week that had slipped past him. He couldn’t remember much of anything anymore. The only thing that seemed to buzz around his head like a constant reminder was Marco. Marco had left and everything was so dark after that.

His mind was filtering everything else out of his brain, leaving nothing but an annoying smile and an obnoxious laugh and large doe-like eyes. The only thing his mind could focus on was Marco, and that did nothing but boil his blood.

He couldn’t remember anything from the past couple of days. Everything was so dark and empty and even the concept of time evaded his thought process. He couldn’t remember his days when he drank, mostly because his mind went dark and blacked out the world.

Deciding he had wallowed in self pity long enough, for the time being, Jean rubbed the sleep gathered at the corner of his eyes and tried to convince his body that it was a good idea to get up from whatever he was laying on.

Rolling over, Jean realized he was laying on the floor of his bathroom and that he had failed to flush the toilet after he emptied his stomach of almost all the gin he had drank before ingesting more. He would be slightly grossed out had he not been in a situation like this before.

Pushing away from the toilet, Jean leaned against the edge of the shower, trying to gather his thoughts and get his shit together. It was a step by step process and right now it seemed like standing up took several steps. Metaphorically anyway.

It seemed like eternity before he stood and exited his hall bathroom.

He used the wall to steady himself, making his wobbly legs move towards the hallway before changing directly to enter the kitchen.

“Ws’ today? Saturday?” he mumbled out, as if anyone would answer him. He used the counter top to hold himself up as he got a glass of water to wash down the taste of vomit. Nikio was scratching fervently at the door and Jean realized he must have left him out all night.

“Fucking stay out there.” he growled at the dog, as the young animal was the cause of all his troubles. And technically, Nikio was the root of all evil. Nikio was the god damn problem. Jean should have never gotten the filthy mutt.

“Fucking useless.” he added, his tone still very fierce and angry. He made his way over to the sliding door and slammed his palm hard against it, causing the dog to flinch back. “Fucking useless!!” he yelled, eyes glowering down at the dog.

Large, soft eyes peered back up at him and it shook Jean. They were kind and affectionate eyes of a dog and even had a touch of sadness to them like most dogs did. They reminded him of Marco’s eyes.

It reminded him that he had lashed out against Marco violently and could only thank his lucky stars that he didn’t actually physically hurt Marco. Jean didn’t think he could live with himself if he had. He couldn’t begin to imagine that beautiful canvas of freckled skin marred by dark purple bruises.

Yet he vaguely remembered how he wanted to wrap his fingers around Marco’s throat. How he wanted Marco to shut up and, instead, took that anger out directly on Marco’s art. Moving out of the kitchen, the man stumbled across the floor and landed on the couch.

He glanced over at his phone and immediately noticed the angry red light that was blinking at him. Someone had left him a voice mail.

“Jean. Dude. Where the hell are you man? Why didn’t you call in? This is the second time. You know how Levi gets. Come on. At least pick up your cellphone.” Eren’s voice was no less annoying when it came across a telephone line. Jean ran a clammy hand across his face and couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Jean couldn’t even locate where his cellphone was at the current moment. Flopping his hand down on the machine, he deleted Eren’s message and moved on to the next one.

“Mr.Kirchstein. Even from one of our best employees, this behavior is not tolerated. You have missed two days of work in which neither days have you called in. At your earliest convenience, call the office so we can talk about this.”

Jean leaned his head against the back of the couch and sighed. How long had he been out? How much time had he lost in his drunken stupor? Obviously two days already. Leaning over, he detailed the message and moved to the next one. He tried not to linger too much on the tone of Mr.Rivaille’s voice.

“Jean. I need you to call me when you get a chance. I am starting to get worried. You haven’t been to work for four days now.” Erwin Smith never called Jean personally and the mousy haired man had to think about the voice for a minute or two before he actually realized who it was. He wasn’t sure if he should be touched or concerned that Erwin was trying to contact him.

Deleting that message as well, he felt a twinge in his heart that there was no word from Marco. No message or text. There were no missed calls or anything to indicate that Marco had tried to contact him.

Silence surrounded him and Jean couldn’t find the will to get up off the couch. There is a bottle just in his reach on one of the side tables and he reached for it. The warm burn running down his throat and into the pit of his stomach offered very little to Jean. It was not the best comfort, but a comfort Jean knew well enough.

“I don’t need him.” Jean told himself, leaning his head heavily against his palm. “I was fine before him. I’ll be fine after him.” he continued. Lazy eyes glanced over at the sliding glass doors, Nikio still outside, curled up against the glass and probably napping. It crossed Jean’s mind to get rid of Nikio once and for all.

Marco had left so easily, not even a call to ask the condition of the possessions that he had left there. Maybe if Jean got rid of Nikio and ignored what had happened in his life in the last months or so, he could pretend that Marco didn’t exist.

He could pretend that there was not a hole in his heart in the shape of an adorable brunette and he could pretend that he could go on without the other.

Yet, it was hard to deny that Jean had enjoyed some of the best days of his life with Marco. He had enjoyed normal things that didn’t involve getting completely shit-faced and blacking out almost every weekend.

Jean just couldn’t admit to himself, much less out loud, that he had enjoyed Marco’s company and his ever present aura of welcomeness and warmth. Marco had been far more than just a body or a one night fuck and go to Jean.

Marco had been far more than just a friend, but Jean was not willing to say that. Anna had been more than a friend and in the end, both him and her had been left in tattered messes.

Moving around on the couch to make himself a bit more comfortable, he took the phone in his hand and stared at the numbers, willing the buttons to dial Marco’s number. Jean could hardly remember it on a good and sober day.

After a few miss-pressed buttons and confused voices, Jean was directed to Marco’s voicemail and he tried to not sound too pathetic as he left a message for the brunette.

“Marco-”

Jean hung up the phone before could even choke out another syllable.


	11. Sobriety is a Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And when things come to a head and things boil over and there is no stopping this train wreck, where will it lead Jean and Marco? It will certainly change them forever. And maybe, just maybe, Jean realizes that he is heading down a dark and deceptive path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was grueling chapter and I tried my best to get it out earlier but it didn’t happen. This was a tough chapter to write in all the ways I can think of. However, here it is! It has been beta-ed but both myself and my beta are extremely busy and running ourselves ragged so if you see mistakes, please feel free to tell me so I can fix them!

Marco had done his best to ignore Jean and any thought that surfaced about the older man. He did everything in his power to avoid thinking about Jean which was far harder to accomplish than Marco had ever imagined. It felt that the more he tried to forget Jean, the more his brain found connections with everyday activities that led directly back to the mousy haired man.

For the past week and a half Marco had been staying with Reiner and Bertolt. They had been nothing but lovely hosts and welcomed Marco with open arms and smiles that could light a city for years to come. They had moved him into the guest bedroom and made him as comfortable as possible. Reiner assured protection from “that asshole down the street” and Bertolt offered open arms and a warming smile. 

And Marco found it was rather easy to slip into a routine with a married couple. At first he had felt like a third wheel, but as the hours ticked by, Marco found himself being pulled into their daily activities. Bertolt wouldn’t let him out of his sights most of that week. 

While Reiner went to work on the following weekdays, Bertolt would allow Marco into his personal office and they would chat a bit as the older male worked away on his laptop. The two of them grew close together and Marco saw another side to Bertolt he had not witnessed before. A side that was not entirely shy and radiated a glow and gently kindness. Bertolt showed Marco a few new techniques with cooking and in return, Marco sketched out Bertolt and his lover, which had been more out of habit than anything else.

It didn’t stop Bertolt from framing it though, no matter how crappy Marco thought the sketch was. 

It had been an overall pleasant experience for both parties involved and Marco felt refreshed and lively once more. As he laid his head down to sleep, most nights his dreams and thoughts were plagued with Jean and at four in the morning, there was little to actually distract Marco.

He tried to play over every scene that had happened before and after he and Jean had made things official. Or rather, official until they left the house together and entered the public eye.

Marco should have know that a relationship with Jean was going to be hard. In fact, he did know. He had been somewhat aware that Jean had a problem. Something dark and rooted deeply within Jean. The liquor bottles, both empty and full, stashed across the house, was not something a healthy individual did. 

But Marco went head first into a relationship the minute Jean had touched him the right way. He bent to Jean’s kisses and whispers and assumed that it was going to be love from there on out. Marco scolded himself for thinking that Jean’s problems would just go away like that. He should have known that he, himself, wouldn’t have been enough to help Jean. 

It didn’t take long for Marco to start having nagging feelings constantly. He would sit in his room late at night and wonder what Jean was up to or if he was sober. He would stare at the ceiling and contemplate if having a relationship with Jean was worth all the trouble and pain.

The brunette understood well enough that relationships were not easy. It was not all flowers and deflowering sex before moving into a big shiny castle that didn’t exist and never would. Marco was far from ignorant about relationships even if he was still young.

But there was only so much that Marco’s body and soul could take. He had waited so long for Jean to make a move and when the older man did, Marco couldn’t have been more happy. It had seemed that his heart and his mind were finally on the same page and for the short moment before Jean’s denial kicked in, Marco had been the happiest he had ever been in his entire life.

Marco had found his true love in Jean but the brunette was not sure if Jean understood that. 

The pain Jean caused was beginning to outweigh the happiness as well. Of course Jean had his own problems and Marco was sure that if Jean could pull himself from the darkness easily, then Jean would. Marco was sure that Jean didn’t purposely wallow in the darkness of pain and self-loathing. The man had issues and any untrained eye could see it.

But Jean had pretty much used Marco has a punching bag. All that anger that was simmering inside of Jean had reared at Marco more than once and the brunette was not sure if he could handle that anymore. He had given Jean his heart and Jean, in return, had used Marco as a vent.

And normally, that is what couples did. They vented to each other and yelled and scream. They took their frustrations out on each other because their significant other was the only other person that could truly understand those frustrations.

Yet Jean had offered absolutely no comfort for Marco to take hold of. Jean had simply used Marco and probably would continue to use Marco as an outlet of aggression. Marco came to the conclusion that Annie had probably went through the same thing. 

And Marco had fooled himself into thinking that he could fix those issues and all the while it felt like he was actually amplifying them. He was bringing the worst out of Jean and it was painful to come to that conclusion. Marco undoubtedly loved Jean and the prospect of distancing himself just so Jean could sleep easier terrified Marco.

It was a sacrifice he was willing to make though, regardless of how melodramatic it sounded. 

Marco continued to have that nagging feeling. It followed him around and ate away at him until he finally decide that it was time to check on Jean. He had not heard from the other and Jean had only called once but left a single-worded message. 

It only made the brunette worry his fingernails away with his teeth some nights as he stared across the rooftops to the one that belonged to Jean’s own home. He wanted to run right over there and hug Jean tightly and make up and tell the man that everything was going to be alright and whatever Jean was going through they would be able to fix it. 

Marco knew that Jean needed his space though and he allowed it. Jean had demons far bigger than anything Marco had previously imagined and Jean needed to work them out on his own, or at least come to terms with them, before he would even allow Marco to help.

Yet a week and some days had nearly been the death of Marco and he knew he wanted to see Jean. He needed to see Jean and when it finally became too much to bare, he decided to make the trip. 

It was a weekday and Reiner had to go to work. The blond had been rightfully anxious about letting Marco go down to Jean’s alone. He offered to take the day off and go with the young brunette, not trusting Jean enough to be alone with Marco. 

Marco simply smiled and patted Reiner on the shoulder and told him to go to work. Jean might be an angry soul, but the golden eyed man had never physically harmed Jean and Marco doubted that would change anytime soon.

Reiner finally gave in and packed up his truck. The blond gave a chaste kiss to his lover, making Bertholdt promise that if anything happened that he would give Reiner a call. Bertholdt and Marco saw Reiner off and when the diesel truck disappeared around the corner and out of the neighborhood, Marco turned to Bertholdt.

He could see the worry deeply embedded in Bertholdt’s eyes but Marco patted the taller one’s shoulder in some kind of attempt to assure him before stepping off the small front porch and heading down the road.

He felt nervous at first as he walked down the street. It was still early in the morning, the sun just now peaking over the tall pine trees of Trost Park. The birds were the only creatures up and active and chirping away on the power lines and bird bathes lining almost every yard. 

A handful of times, Marco had almost turned around and went back to the couple’s house. The idea of returning back to Bertholdt and having some breakfast was tempting but the brunette continued to push on. He had already ran away from Jean once, he didn’t want to do it again.

He wanted to give Jean the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to think that Jean was hurting just as much as Marco was and they both needed to see each other. 

Jean’s house inched closer and closer with each step that Marco took and once again, Marco has to bite back the urge to turn around and flee. Jean’s violent outburst plays in his head but Marco pushes it aside hurriedly. Jean would never purposely hurt Marco. Jean just had all this pent up anger inside of him, but Marco knew somewhere deep down that Jean would never lay a hand on him. 

Marco doesn’t realize he’s standing in front of Jean’s house until he knocks. Its soft and the brunette is sure that no one could possibly hear him knock so he tries again, a bit louder this time. 

Instead of receiving an answer, the door moves forward when Marco bangs against the wood harder. Confused and slightly worried now, Marco pushes the door further open, glancing inside. Even from his spot he can tell the house is a mess.

The hallway is littered with bits and pieces of some unknown objects and there is a distant odor of burnt food. Marco enters cautiously, closing the front door soundlessly behind him. He takes his time going down the front hall, not sure if anything of the floor could cause pain if he were to stumble or fall.

The kitchen is the next thing he encounters and it is in no better shape than the hall. Plates and glasses are strone across the tabletop and floor. Pieces of ceramic are littered in just about every square inch, accompanied by bottles of liquor. Marco did his best to ignore the anger he felt for Jean, knowing that the older man couldn’t help himself sometimes.

The refrigerator door was open, some of the containers of leftovers spilling out and onto the floor. Marco can barely make out the contents of a Thai Food box that seems to have met an untimely fate with the floor. 

He moved to clean up some of the mess, placed a few shattered bowls into the trash can out of sheer habit when he hears the whining. Glancing over at the sliding glass doors, Marco frowns when he sees Nikio scratchingly pathetically at the door.

“Oh. You poor baby. He must have left you out here.” Marco refused to think about exactly how long Nikio had been made to suffer the outdoors while Jean stumbled around his house like a drunk fool. If the destroyed backyard and several holes were any indication, it had been a fair while.

He made his way over to the door and the dog seemed to instantly brighten up. He licks at the glass, pawing at it as well. Its very clear that Jean had not been paying a lick of attention to Nikio since Marco had left. 

The evidence was scattered across the yard like a cow field.

And just as Marco reaches for the handle to let the dog in so he could love him and feed him properly, Nikio goes off on a random tangent. He growls angrily and loudly. He bears his teeth at Marco and the brunette is so confused as to what he might have done wrong in the last ten seconds to make Nikio hate him as well. 

He jolts away from the door and away from Nikio’s insistent barking and backs right into a solid mass of body. Marco can’t help the sigh of relief that moves its way out of his throat at the feeling of Jean against him. Of knowing that Jean is still alive and not mortally injured to the point of not being able to stand up. 

“Jean-” His voice comes out raw and Marco almost stutters a bit at the emotion welling in his heart. It finally hit home how much he had missed Jean now that he was near the other again. 

Turning, Marco wants nothing more than to hug Jean tightly and find comfort and solace in the other. Instead, he finds strong hands wrapping around his throat and cutting off any kind of oxygen to his lungs. Marco is struck by confusion at first and Jean easily overpowers him, slamming him hard against the closest wall. 

As Jean yells out curses and obscenities and several slurs against Marco’s sexuality, none of it makes sense to Marco. He is trying to so desperately to hang on to his conscience and rationalize why Jean was so upset.

What had he done in just the last milliseconds of the past that had triggered such a reaction from Jean? Marco excepted love and kisses and maybe a few harsh words but nothing like this. Not his vision fading ever so slowly as he slumped to the ground. His body reacting to the lack of oxygen and shutting down his system is sections, one by one. 

Jean must have still been drinking. Was still drunk and angry and had no clue what he was doing to Marco. Jean would never hurt Marco on purpose. Jean was too sweet and gentle and yeah, rough around the edges, but never this violent.

Marco’s lips fall open in a vain attempt to plead with Jean. The anger simmering just beyond those golden eyes is disturbing enough to shake Marco to core, but he still attempts to plead.

“Jean. Please. Jean, baby. I love you.” Marco hears the words better inside his own head than his ears do. The letters come out whispered and barely there, taking with them essential breaths of air that Marco needed.

The last thing that Marco ever wanted to do was die by the hands of the one man he was utterly and devotedly in love with.

He tried again to plead with the older man, this time nearly in tears at the thought of death being so close. Of Jean being the one to reunite himself and his parents together in such an untimely manner. Somewhere deep inside Marco’s gut, he felt the pain of thinking of the guilt Jean would have when he finally came to his senses.

Jean would surely never forgive himself. He would drink even more and probably drink himself to death. He would come back from this black-out spell that had Jean not acting in his right mind and he would look down at Marco’s body and sink deeper into the darkness that already encircled him.

Marco couldn’t allow that to happen. The brunette wouldn’t allow Jean to dig himself deeper into the hole and motivated by this new revelation and his body’s natural instinct to survive, Marco moved slightly and struck his leg upward, finding purchase between Jean’s legs.

Jean’s hands let him go and he stumbles backward, a pained and angered groan permeating the air. Marco’s eyes blurred as he tried to get a hold of himself and stand on wobbly legs. He was free, but only for the time being. 

The brunette lurched forward and but loses his balance just as he was getting it back. He fell to his knees with a small grunt but continued to move, his adrenaline pushing him to keep going and get away from Jean. To protect both himself and Jean. The front door is just in his sight and it is so close and so far away at the same time.

Inches feel like yards and seconds of time feel like years passing them by in such a rapid display of movement.

He didn’t get far before fingers are wrapping around his ankle now, yanking him back a few inches. “Jean! Stop!” Marco begged brokenly, clawing uselessly against the carpet. “Jean! Jean Please! Just talk to me!!”

Jean didn’t want to talk, that much was obvious.

He’s yelling instead and Marco could see his mouth form the shapes as Jean turned him over on his back, but it is was like his ears were tuning everything out. The only thing Marco could hear was the loud growl of blood rushing in his veins. 

The only thing he could feel was the the ghost of Jean’s fingers against his neck and the lingering sting of a fist as it made contact with his face. 

His will to survive and the need to help Jean were conflicting violently and the young brunette was at a crossroads in which he never would have been willingly. 

He had to choice between himself and Jean and his heart lurched at the idea of causing Jean pain. Yet his brain argued fiercely that the only thing Jean ever did to Marco was cause him pain. His brain yelled and screamed at him to give up on hopeless love and to protect the skin that hadn’t already been bruised by Jean’s touch. 

“Please Jean-” Marco tried, hot tears streaming down his face and onto the carpet. The pain is moving down his face and across his cheekbones from where Jean had struck him on the face. It crawls down his jaw line and into his spine and tingles in an unpleasant way.

“You’re a god damn Faggot” Jean seethed as he looked down at Marco with utter disgust and boiling anger. “A fucking Fag-”

Marco pushed upward, finding a bit of strength in the anger Jean was causing him by such hateful words. The brunette felt contempt for the first time in a long time and this time he was grateful for it. It was giving him the ability to press against Jean. To shove Jean away from him and roll them over until Marco was sitting on top of Jean, holding him down with every ounce of energy he had left. 

He tried to take the opportunity to move and get to the door again, but Jean was fast for a stumbling and angry drunk and had Marco’s arm in his grip before Marco was even standing at full height. 

Jean squeezed, surely leaving fingerprint shaped bruises on that expanse of skin as well and causing Marco to cry out. The pain riddled over almost his entire body and all Marco wanted to do was give up and lay down because he was just tired. Mentally and physically, Marco was tired, but he kept fighting. He kept fighting for himself and for Jean.

“Let me go!!” Marco snapped, hoping that the sharp words would register with Jean. They didn’t. The mousy haired man simply squeezed harder and jerked Marco forward as if he was a rag doll. “STOP!” Marco screeched, using his free hand to dig his nails into Jean’s hand.

Jean let go, hissing as he nursed the bleeding claw marks Marco created. Like a caged animal, Jean’s anger only intensified, as if there was no way to douse it, and any attempt only multiplied it. 

Before Marco could even think or move in the follow seconds that felt like hours, Jean’s body turned and reached backwards before spinning around and snarling at Marco. The bottle hit Marco across the face at full force. The glass shattered across his face and dug into the skin and Marco fell to the ground, clutching the side of his face. He could feel the sharp surface of several pieces embedded into his skin and he couldn’t even open his left eye at that point.

He felt the warm trickle of blood run down his face and he sat on the floor in a state of shock that Jean had actually hit him with a liquor bottle. It was not his fist and not even a kick to the side, but a glass bottle. A weapon.

And all Marco wanted to do is pass out on the floor and let the darkness creeping around the edges of his vision take over. His body was completely tired of fighting and it seemed all too easy just to quit and let Jean finish the job.

His brain is screaming at him again and Marco barely heard it over Jean’s own yelling voice. He’s picking Marco up, lifting the younger man like he was nothing and shaking him. Marco tries to listen to what his brain is telling him and he barely makes out what he needs to do. Marco needs to scream. He needs to yell and call out for help because some surely someone has to hear them, if not hear Jean already. 

Apparently, Jean figures it out too, that Marco is going to scream, and covers his mouth tightly with his dirty hands. 

Marco bites because his brain tells him to. He bites down hard enough until he tastes blood and Jean lets go with a roar of anger, shoving Marco away as if any kind of body contact is taboo for Jean.

Marco catches himself instead of falling this time. His mind his racing a mile a minute but he heads for the door once he locates it. He yells and screams out for any kind of help until he feels the burn of a sore throat lingering in the back of his mouth. 

He can hear Jean close behind him and yelps as the older man yanks on his shirt in an attempt to subdue Marco once more. Yet Marco pushes forwards and he feels the thread of his clothes tear away as he gets through the door and out of Jean’s grasp.

He tumbles onto the lawn, the brightness of the day almost blinding him and the coolness of the grass almost soothing him. He is not safe yet and he knows it. He can hear Jean not far behind him and Marco yells once more, praying to whatever deity there was in the sky that someone would hear him.

That someone would come to help him before Jean did more damage than he already did. 

Jean is on top of him again, hands laced around his bruised neck. He squeezes harder this time and there is a crazed look in his eyes that terrifies Marco. Marco pleads with his last breath to Jean, asking the other to let him go.

“I love you, Jean.” Marco rasps out and tries to rationalize things to Jean before the darkness starts to consume his vision slowly but surely and his mind feels empty and almost completely gone. 

And then, suddenly as if fate truly did shine on Marco, Jean’s weight is gone and Marco’s lungs are sucking in air greedily now that his windpipe is open once more. 

He turns slightly onto his side and there is Bertolt, clutching his knuckles as he kneels beside Marco, asking him a series of questions that Marco can’t begin to understand. Yet, even in his blood-lost stupor and pain, Marco can put two and two together.

Marco’s eyes travel over to Jean, who is crumbled on the ground a few feet away, holding onto his face and groaning out a few curse words. 

Bertolt helps Marco up and scans over Marco’s face and suddenly Marco is self-conscious about the damage Jean has caused there. 

Bertolt is moving Marco away from Jean and his home, placing a protective arm over Marco’s shoulder and holding him close, his other arm holding Marco tightly by the waist so the boy wouldn’t fall.

Marco can hear Jean yelling at them before a door is slammed and then there is silence. Marco can’t help the words that string from his mouth. He apologizes over and over again to Bertolt but cannot think of a reason as to why he was sorry.

Bertolt hushes him and Marco obeys because he doesn’t want to make Bertolt angry too.

He ends up getting stitches across his forehead and eyebrow as well as a long scar across his cheek, accompanied by smaller, lighter scars surrounding the larger one. Marco wouldn’t talk about Jean nor about what happened to the nurses, even when Bertolt insisted that he tell them.

Marco wasn’t going to press charges. He was not even going to get the police involved, no matter how much Bertolt thought it was a bad idea. Instead, he told the nurses and the doctor that he had been getting a glass out of the top shelf and it fell on his face.

Marco didn’t miss the skeptical looks he received, but the nurses didn’t have time to question him before they had to move down the hall to settle Reiner when he arrived. 

\---

Jean woke up some time later and it was dark again. The lights in his house were off and for a moment, he couldn’t think of where he was at. He knew he was home, but which room he was in alluded him for the time being. 

He sat up, stretching out his arms and taking in his surroundings. The house was a mess but that was nothing new at all. He was tempted to roll back over and go to sleep on the floor, but his bladder became an issue and the man finally got up and found his way to the bathroom.

He flipped on the light only after flushing the toilet, having pretty decent aim for a hungover/drunk guy in a mess of a house. He washes his hands before drying them off and finally looking into the room.

The blood across his face is shocking and it causes Jean’s heart to skip in a very unpleasant way. His eyes is bruised and as he runs his hand across the darkened skin, he notices the bite marks as well.

He stares as his wounds for a long time, racking his brain for any kind of information. He can’t come up with anything to help him. He cannot remember anything but darkness and draws a blank as what had happened.

He cannot remember the last couple of days and it for the first time in a very long time, that frightens Jean.


	12. I Don't Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We found ourselves wondering if Marco and Jean are meant to be together, and if they are, does Jean even deserve Marco? Do they really need to be together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are so close to being done! 12/16 chapters! Four more to go! I bet you're wondering how I am going to wrap this up! I'm actually wondering that myself ^_^
> 
> I want to take this time to thank all of you who have been with me while I was writing this. Your comments keep me encouraged and I am glad you guys got into this story like I have. I hope you enjoy the following chapters as I continue to write them. If you have any suggestions, feel free to inbox me!
> 
> This chapter is shorter than normal, I thought I would just tell everyone!
> 
> You can also read this story on tumblr! I go by the same name other as I do here. -OpalPenwriter-

Its not the early morning glow of the sun that causes Jean to rise from his coma-like slumber. Its not the dog, constantly barking and whining to be finally let back into the house nor is it the insistent beeping that echoed through his home, informing him of the missed messages waiting for him on his phone. 

Jean hadn’t touched a drop of liquor since he woke up yesterday and found himself in such a bloody and sore shape. He had been terrified of what he could have possibly done and feared a repeat occurrence if he decided to drink so deeply again. However, his body was still recovering immensely from the damage of almost two weeks of drinking and rest was the best remedy.

Jean knocked out like a light after he cleaned himself up a bit, clearing the blood off his skin and patching up some of the scratches and bite marks and rubbing alcohol across some of the open wounds. 

He tried to ignore the feeling of dread deep within his veins about what had occurred and why he couldn’t remember it. The best way to do that was to sleep and worry about it when he woke.

Maybe somewhere between his dreamless sleep and forgetful memory the whole ordeal would just fade away and be forgotten.

Jean had not planned on waking so early in the morning, but fate had other plans as the constant heavy banging against his door did not let up. 

Letting out a sound that was tied between a groan and a whine, Jean turned slowly and slid off his bed, surprised to even have woken up there. Hardly did he ever make it the bed when his mind was checked out of his body.

“Comin’...Comin!!” Jean snapped as the banging continued. The constant rapping against his door was going to be burned into his memory for every and haunt him in his sleep at night.

He made his slow crawl towards the door, using the sturdy walls of his home as guides because he didn’t trust his feet nor his coordination at all. He still felt the swirl in his head of drunkenness and the bite of a hangover was only a few short steps away from taking over his body.

He was overly surprised that he had not drank himself to death, but then again, his liver probably gave up protesting years ago when Jean had first started to drink like a mad man.

“I’m fucking comin’!!” he yelled, the outburst rattling his ears and causing Jean to wince against his own voice. The knocking did not cease and Jean wanted to bang his head against the wall out of sheer frustration. Anybody who came to visit him usually knew he drank like a sailor and tended to knock out for das on end.

Whoever it was at the door better have a decent excuse or Jean was going to punch them in the face.

Maybe it was Marco. That thought settled deep into Jean’s head and he felt his breath quicken while his feet came to a sudden stop on the carpet of the hallway.

What if it was Marco? What if Marco wanted to see him or wanted to try and talk this out with him. It had been so long since Jean had seen Marco’s face.

Maybe, just maybe, Marco had come back to him and Jean’s life could be whole again. They could work out whatever problems had manifested from that night after the art gallery and they could be together again and Jean could feel better once more. 

“Hold on!” he called out a third time, his voice not nearly as venomous as before. He shuffled faster across the carpet and towards the front door. He couldn’t kill the glimmer of hope developing within his rib cage.

The side bars of glass that surrounded the door let in the morning light and haloed the door as if God was standing just on the other side. Yet, God was not someone Jean wanted to see.

He wanted to see Marco.

Actually, Jean needed to see Marco. He needed to known that Marco still felt the same way about him and that he would forgive him for that stupid outburst after the art showing.

Finally making it to the door, the mousy haired man unlocked the deadbolt and flung the door open, the outside light blinding just for a nanosecond before a fist came lunging out at him and bruising his other eye. 

Jean fell back slightly, but whoever was at the door has him pressed against the wall almost two inches off the ground before Jean’s back could even make it to the carpet.

“You, you pathetic little worm, are blessed with luck that you don’t even deserve.” Reiner snarled out, his face looking more menacing than usual. Jean knew of his neighbors and Reiner and himself didn’t particularly get along. Jean seemed to always piss Reiner off one way or another and today was no different.

Except for the punch to the face. Reiner usually never carried out his bodily threats. 

“What do I owe the pleasure-”

“Don’t even play with me, Jean. You know exactly why I’m here. Or where you too damn drunk to remember the disgusting pig you were just a day or so ago?” the blond snapped out as he let Jean go.

He slid to the floor, allowing his legs to bend and his back to slid against the wall. It took his damaged and drunk mind to process the words and plug them into the correct places but Reiner didn’t even wait for Jean to reply. He was already down the hall. 

“I’m getting Marco’s things. You are not to contact him at all. You are not to see him at all. And if you so much as come near him I will shred your ass like goddamn paper and make it look like you threw yourself under my lawnmower.” Reiner chewed out, stuffing a few bags with Marco’s clothes and essentials.

Marco himself had informed Reiner that the broken and trashed paintings could stay. They meant nothing to him anymore. 

“Marco is moving out. For good and honestly, I don’t understand why he didn’t leave your sorry, drunk and pathetic ass sooner. Not even a saint like that boy can deal with you Jean.” Reiner continued to rant even though Jean could no longer see him.

As Reiner collected Marco’s things, either grunting or sometimes shouting out things that probably should have offended Jean, the other man just sat on the floor, staring out into space as his brain did loops and spins before everything connected together.

He had hurt Marco and that was the only conclusion that made any type of sense. Reiner wouldn’t be here unprovoked, as much as the blond would enjoy taking a boot to Jean’s ass before stringing him up by his toes.

Reiner was nothing if not overly protective. If anyone so much as looked at Bertholdt the wrong way, Reiner would snap and snarl the unlucky soul into apologizing. Jean was sure that Marco was now under Reiner wing in some form or fashion. 

And for Reiner to be at Jean’s home, causing him bodily harm and threatening him even more than what was normally called for, Jean had to have fucked up big time.

Almost all at once, scenarios played through Jean’s mind and none of them were ones he wanted to think about. Marco was hurt, if not emotionally then probably physically and the sudden and overwhelming guilt hit Jean like three ton bricks to his heart. 

He sat there, in a sort of daze as Reiner continued to rummage around in the guest bedroom before re-emerging with three bags on his shoulder and a scowl planted firmly across his face. 

“Oh my god. You can’t even take care of a dog, you piece of shit.” Reiner commented as his eyes roamed over to the glass sliding doors where Nikio loyally sat, his ribs showing now from a lack of nutrition. His large brown eyes were glazed over and the once large and proud breed looked nothing more than a trembling tree branch in a wind storm.

“You’re worse than pathetic, Jean.” Reiner stated as he moved across the trashed living room and opened the sliding door. Nikio didn’t move at first, instead just staring up at Reiner as if the dog was not sure if he was friend or foe.

“Its alright.” And just like that Reiner’s demeanor changed as he leaned down, brushing his fingers carefully over Nikio’s ears before attaching a leash to his collar. “Papa Reiner is going to take good care of you. You’ll be fine. I promise.” The blond smiled, pressing his forehead against the dog’s before standing to his full height.

“Is he okay?” Jean asked, speaking up for the first time since he greeted Reiner at the door. The mousy haired covered his bruised and battered face, and his clothes were either stained or ripped.

Jean looked nothing short of a homeless drunk who might have happened to break into a house to find some kind of comfort for the night.

“What do you think? Or can you remember? Can you even remember what Marco’s last name is? Or is favorite color? Or the last time he came over? Or how many stitches he had to get over his eye?” Reiner snarled, heavy steps crossing the floor to stand in front of Jean.

Stitches. Marco had stitches and had to get those stitches because of Jean. Jean couldn’t handle that information and his stomach churned and flipped over. He heaved, but nothing came out, probably because almost everything he stomach contained had been thrown up the these last couple of days and Jean hadn’t since then ate very much.

Reiner took very little pity on Jean as he stared down at the mess of a man. Reiner felt a mix of disgust and anger but refused to feel pity for Jean anymore. Jean, in Reiner’s opinion, had been leaning on the drinking crutch for far too long and used it as an excuse to not deal with conflict.

Jean was far from a man in Reiner’s eyes and deserved nothing less than the hole that Jean had dug for himself. 

He stomped at Jean, like he was a dog and the golden eyed man actually flinched, crossing his arms over his chest as if that would be enough to protect himself from Riener. Jean felt vulnerable and scared and he felt like he was stuck back in his childhood home with his father, all alone with nobody to hear him suffer.

“Marco is going to be fine. He’s away from you. Safe and secure with people who are going to actually love him and take care of him. You can’t even take care of yourself, Jean.” Reiner stated, the bite to his voice gone, but that didn’t mean the words hurt any less.

The truth always seemed to stab Jean right in the heart and twist until he couldn’t take it anymore and reached for another bottle.

“What you did, you should go to jail for. What you did was assault. Assault with a weapon and god damnit if I didn’t think I would get caught I would take a bottle to your face too.” 

Jean flinched again, curling up against himself as the image played out in his head how he must have attacked Marco. Not only attacked him, but attacked him with some kind of purpose and a weapon. He could have seriously hurt Marco.

He did seriously hurt Marco.

“I’m sor-”

“Stop. Stop right there. I doubt you are sorry. You don’t know the true meaning of sorry because if you did, you would not be the man you are now. Filthy and disgusting while you’re sitting in a disgusting and empty house where nobody loves you because you drive them away.” 

“Reiner-”

“Oh no. Now is not the time to get all tough boy on me. The amount of restraint I am using is monumental and I am just looking for a reason to stomp your ass into the ground and into your grave. The only person who has any kind of feelings for you is the same person who told me not to hurt you, Jean. The same person who you hurt probably ten times over by now. He still cares about you, even after all this fucking shit you have put him through. Yet you don’t even have the common decency to act like a man. To face up to your mistakes. Instead, you drink.”

“...”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you had anything to say that. The truth usually makes a person speechless. Come near my house and I will call the police.” 

The door slammed shut behind Reiner and Jean was left to himself, the words Reiner spoke echoing through the walls of his empty home and deep into his ear drums.

Time eluded him as he sat there, staring at the dark shade of beige that was his carpet. 

The clock ticks away in the kitchen, the only noise that Jean hears other than the occasional passing by of a car. 

“Well, Jean.” He huffed out, leaning his head against the wall behind him. “I...I don’t even know what to say...I’m just sitting here, talking to myself like a crazed fool.”

The sun was just setting when Jean decided to move from the spot that Reiner left him in. His knees ached from being bent so long and protested loudly as he stood. He ignored the pops and cracks from his joints and stumbled over to the living room and flopped down on the couch.

The voice mail had been beeping at him since he got up that morning. It was about time he checked the messages. Even though he highly doubted it, something important might be waiting for him past that angry and red blinking light on the machine.

Jean was actually caught off guard when he pressed play and Levi’s voice filled the room. He had honestly forgot he had a job.

“Mr. Kirschtein, I’m not entirely sure what is going on with you and your sudden absent for weeks, but let me inform you over the phone that if it were up to me, you would have been fired the third day you were gone. However, Mr.Smith some how believes you have some valid reason of your absence. If you do not call me within the next couple of days, I will terminate your occupation here at TitanCorp.”

There was not even a curt goodbye as the message clicked to the end and the machine prompted Jean to repeat or delete it. He pressed the delete button and moved on to the second and last message left for him. It was Eren and honestly, Jean felt some kind of relief to hear his voice again, for some odd or reason or another.

“I don’t know what's going on Jean but you need to call someone. Or call into work or something, damn. You’ve gone MIA I think you might just be dead, man. I hope you’re not dead. I’ve been trying to call you. Just call me back.”

The message ended and Jean briefly wondered if Eren might have come by to check on him while he was blacked out. Eren most be worried to death about him and probably taking a lot of shit from Levi because of Jean as well.

“You’re life is one bit shit pile, Jean.” He murmurs, running a hand through his stiff and unwashed hair. “A pile of rotten shit that you’re wallowing around in. That you created. That you pretty much are.” he continued, closing his eyes and leaning the back of his head against the edge of the sofa.

He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling, the light from dying sunset barely reflecting across and making different patterns and shadows.

“Marco...I wish I could tell you I was sorry..”

Jean turned his head, his eyes catching a full and unopened bottle of his finest scotch. He reached for it because it was his comfort. It was something that warmed him and he needed warmth.

Yet that need for warmth was the root of all evil and Jean’s hand stopped just short of touching the smooth glass. He stared at the long seek neck of the bottle for a minute or two, running his hand and enjoying the cool touch. 

He wrapped his hand around the slender neck of the bottle and squeezed, before lifting and throwing the bottle as hard as he could against the wall, enjoying the sound of glass shattering.

“I don’t need you.”


	13. I Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is left with his own thoughts. Our once bright and cheerful boy is now at his lowest and has no idea what to do. He is not the same Marco we met in at the beginning and sometimes we have to wonder if Jean is to blame for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Twelve is out! Three more to go! THREE!!! As of right now, this chapter is not beta'd by another person other than me. To get these chapters out before the end of April, I need to post them as soon as I'm done proofing them myself. However, I am looking for a beta since my beta is just as busy as I am and I hate to ask her to beta when she works herself to the bone doing her own thing both with school and her fantastic art. If you feel like you want to beta for the rest of this story, as well as future stories I have planned, please contact me! You can also read this on tumblr! I go by the same name over there!

He stared at the mirror in the brilliantly lit bathroom for almost an hour. He pushed his hair away from his face before pushing it back over his eye and then moving it back again. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from the ugliness that stretched across the right side of his face.

The doctor said that the scars would fade. He would only have small pink and jagged lines that would forever remind him of the night that Jean had attacked him.

Years from now, regardless of where the brunette would be in his life, those scars would remain in the same place, clustered together in variations of small and long lines. A strangled sound escaped Marco’s throat at the thought of looking like some kind of victim forever.

For now, though, he had black stitches that made him look like some kind of freaky Frankenstein. The black lines criss-crossed across the top of his eye in a long strand, while smaller, thinner lines pulled together the shallower cuts from the glass.

It was an ugly mess that caused him to flinch every time he passed by a mirror or noticed his reflection in one of the windows or a glass from the cabinet. He avoided looking at himself as best as he could, but he just couldn’t forget about the ordeal.

It was burned into his memory like a brand and he found himself replaying events over and over again as if he could somehow change what had happen.

Sometimes, at night as he made his way down the hall to grab something to drink in the kitchen, he would catch a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror with just enough light streaming in from the rising moon to see those scars. He would stop, dead in his tracks and just stare until he felt his legs tingle from lost circulation.

Sometimes the scars felt like they were on fire and Marco wanted nothing more than to claw away at them in some vain attempt to make them disappear. 

Other times, the scars would feel ice cold and almost steal away any kind of warmth that Marco had left in his spirit. The feeling would spread from the right side of his face and crawl down to his heart where it would manifest and breed thoughts that normally would never cross his mind. 

They were just scars. Yet scars were still permanent, no matter how much they faded with time. Marco would forever see the black and twisted lines of the stitches and the anger burning deep in Jean’s beautiful and enchanting eyes.

The physical scars had caused the manifestation of scars that were not visible to the eye.

“Marco?” Bertholdt’s voice jolted the brunette from his daze and he looked towards the door where the older male leaned. 

“Yeah?” he replied softly trying to curl his lips upward in a smile. He didn’t want the other man to worry about him, because Reiner and Bertholdt had already done so much for him. Marco felt like a freeloader sometimes, but the generous couple wouldn’t allow it.

They refused to let Marco feel guilty about anything. They nearly showered with him love like parents would for their only son. At one point, when Marco had been wrapped up in blankets in the small guest room, sobbing uncontrollably after a vivid nightmare, Bertholdt had swooped in like a mother hen and hugged him tightly while whispering comforting words.

“Reiner and I are going out to get some groceries. Did you wanna come?” the man asked as he entered into the bathroom and placed a large hand on Marco’s shoulder. Bertholdt’s eyes swept across Marco’s face, and the younger man couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious.

He didn’t want anyone looking at his face longer than they had to.

Marco shook his head and moved away from the other without any real thought to his actions. Bertholdt didn’t miss it, he rarely missed anything, but didn’t comment on it. “Well...alright. Keep the doors locked, sweetheart. And you have Reiner’s number if something happens. We won’t be gone for more than an hour, hour and half at the most.” he explained before moving out of the bathroom. 

Marco could hear the sounds of shoes moving across the hall and Reiner grabbing his wallet from his dresser in the master bedroom. Bertholdt’s footsteps were far more lighter and faster, moving across his home like a fae in the forest. He could hear the two lovers murmuring softly and he could almost see them embracing lovingly if he imagined hard enough.

Everything about the couple and their home screamed warmth and comfort and happiness but Marco could barely feel it. 

“We rented a couple of movies! They’re on the table if you want to watch them while we’re gone!’ Reiner called from the hall, his voice booming like the roll of thunder. It reminded Marco of his father in some ways, before his father got too weak to even speak near the end of his life.

Marco turned back to the mirror to gaze at his face before Reiner appeared in the door. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah. Who can’t?” Marco said with a small chuckle as he moved over and nudged Reiner’s rock solid arm with his fist. He tried to be normal for the couple because he didn’t want to worry them. Even though it was hard to smile and laugh, Marco managed. 

Reiner studied him for a minute, as if trying to detect stress before ruffling the brunette’s hair and waving gently. There were only a few more sounds of the older two moving around before the front door opened and shut and Marco was alone in their large and expensive home. 

He sat in silence, even after the rumbling of Reiner’s truck had receded into the distance. Marco stared at his figure in the mirror, so many thoughts running through his head that he just couldn’t grasp a single one.

Jean seemed to be the main theme of all his musings now. Almost everything he did, reminded Marco of Jean. He couldn’t cook, clean or do much else without Jean’s smile or soft caresses infiltrating his mind.

Yet, no matter what, those thoughts always turned dark and those soft, barely there touches would bleed into a bruising grip and smiling lips would twist into an angry snarl that caused Marco to flinch, even though there was no one there to hurt him.

Jean was not there to hurt him. If anything, Reiner had assured Marco of that much. Reiner promised Jean all types of physical pain if he ever stepped foot on the property and Marco was opt to believe it.

It was not comforting though. Reiner couldn’t protect Marco from his own thoughts, especially when he was left alone to over think and over analyze and overreact to everything that ever happened between himself and Jean.

Marco found himself lost in his own thoughts at any given time during the day and especially at night. All the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘maybes’ circled what little of his self esteem he had left like vultures and slowly picked away at him.

“Jean didn’t even want me before. I can only imagine his disgust when he sees these scars.” Marco murmured as he ran his hand across the ridged area. “You’re ugly. Pathetic and ugly.” he chided himself, looking away from the mirror before deciding to move out of the bathroom.

He made his way into the livingroom, the promised movies sitting on the coffee table in a neat stack. The brunette flopped down on the couch and thumbed through the cases. Most of the movies were romantic comedies, something that Bertholdt indulged in and Reiner was forced to sit there and endure through.

Marco was not necessarily in the mood to watch two people fall in love and have a perfect fairytale ending. If anything, he was in the mood for action or thriller. Blood and people being shot at might bring him into better spirits.

“You’re starting to think like a maniac.” Marco murmured to himself as he sat the movies down and stared at the blank T.V screen.

He couldn't help but wonder what Jean was doing right now. Had Reiner’s words sunk into Jean’s thick skull or had he still been too drunk to even understand English?

Was he still drinking, regardless of the pain he had caused Marco? Was he too scared to come face Marco, or Reiner? Or was it that Jean simply did not care enough and it didn’t matter to him one way or another that Marco was out of his house now. 

Circling his arms around his lithe body, the young man curling into himself as he sunk deeper in the couch.

Just like many times before, Marco felt conflicted with his own mind. He couldn’t think of a life without Jean, having fallen hard for the man, yet Marco couldn’t imagine a life with Jean because it felt more like an abusive relationship than anything else.

And in some cases, Jean had abused Marco, both mentally and physically and Marco just couldn’t get over how easy it came to Jean. For Jean, violence was far easier than any kind of emotion or sympathy. 

“He drinks.” Marco argued with himself and it was true, Jean did drink. Drinking was the root of all the evils things Jean had ever done or said to Marco, but that did not fully excuse every action. 

“Or does it?” The brunette asked himself, leaning further back into the couch and moving his gaze from the T.V screen to the large, spacious windows. The question of whether Jean had been in control of his actions crossed Marco’s mind several times since that night of the attack.

It was hard to say and hard to determine. Marco wanted to think that Jean would never hurt him if he was sober, but Jean, in all the months that Marco had gotten to know him, was never fully sober. 

Marco was sure that Jean knew he had a drinking problem anyway. Jean knew and was aware that he had demons that he was fighting and yet chose to try and drown them in alcohol instead.

“He just needs help.” Marco continued on, closing his eyes for a brief moment and taking in a large breath. He could feel the tears, prickling at the corners of his eyes. The simple thought of Jean brought a barrage of emotions from Marco that was a mix between pleasant and painful.

Marco had never before met someone that was so complicated. He never had encountered a man that he wanted to run to and run away from at the same time. Jean elicited passion and love from Marco, but in return had caused him pain and agony. 

“It couldn’t be easy, could it?” He questioned to the air that surrounded him. It was nice when the two older men went out sometimes. It left him to murmur to himself without getting looks as if he was losing his mind.

Marco was probably losing his mind if he was honest with himself. At his age he should be on a college campus and making friends and going out to drink before stumbling back to his dorm late at night.

Maybe at this point, Marco would skip drinking entirely. 

Marco should have been deciding what he wanted to do after he got his major, not worrying about some older man and his welling being. 

All his worrying left him with absolutely nothing but a scar across his face that would never leave him. He would have it for as long as he was still alive. 

“I miss him.” Marco whispered out as he pressed his fingers together, intertwining them as if Jean was the one holding his hand.

“I miss him. I love him. I want to love him.” The young man continued on, untangling his hands and reaching above him and towards the ceiling. “He hates me.” 

“You’re worth more than him.” And this time it wasn’t Marco’s own voice, arguing with his own logic as he sat on the lonesome couch in the glow of the afternoon sunlight. It was Reiner, coming through the living room archway with a look of concern etched across a usually hard exterior. 

Somewhere in the kitchen, Marco could hear the shufflings of Bertholdt as he put things away. Marco was not sure when the two got home and how they got in without him hearing them first. Reiner’s truck was enough to wake the dead as it was.

“When did you get home?” Marco asked, obviously avoiding the man’s first statement since Marco had a hard enough time talking to himself about it, much less anyone else like Reiner who was not exactly elegant when it came to words.

“A few minutes ago. We would have been home sooner, but Bertholdt insisted on going by this nursery. Bought an ass ton of flowers that he’s going to be idolizing until they die of frost in the winter” the older man chuckled as he slung an arm over the back of the couch.

Marco nodded, not sure how to reply to that and the two plunged into a thick silence. He had not realized he had been sitting on the couch, wallowing in his own self pity for what was probably hours until the other two returned home. Reiner, who was always a man of words, broke the silence before Marco could think of anything to say. 

“I know it must be hard. I don’t like Jean and I never have, but you. You had to of had some kind of love for him. And I think thats whats killing you the most right now, Marco.” The blond stated as he looked down at the smaller male.

“You don’t know whether to love him or not.” Reiner added and it was like he hit the nail on the head. Marco could only nod frantically and the tears he had successfully warded off were making a second appearance.

He was not as successful this time, and the tears ran down his face and sobs ripped from his body. It was like a switch and Marco was falling apart, nearly shoving his entire face into Reiner’s side. 

Reiner wrapped his arm around Marco, tugging the boy closer to him and allowing Marco to cry into his shoulder. Marco was hurting and he was hurting bad and Reiner was at a loss of what to do. Marco didn’t seem to hate Jean at all, even after Jean had blatantly attacked him.

Turning his head a bit, Reiner caught sight of Bertholdt, standing in the doorway and watching the two. The blond could see in the other’s eyes how much Bertholdt was worried about Marco. The boy was like a child that they hadn’t had yet and both of the older men were not sure how to exactly help Marco at this point. 

Their comforting words were not doing the trick and there was not much less that the couple could offer Marco at this point. They had opened their house, their hearts and their arms to him. 

“I’m sorry.” Marco hiccuped as he clung to Reiner as if he was the key to life and happiness. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for Marco. Nothing at all.”


	14. Going Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean goes to see his father, there is not much else that can be said about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Thirteen is out! Fourteen and Fifteen will be up within fifteen minutes at the latest! I want to take this time to say that I am so happy with those who have enjoyed this story and that I am also happy with the improvement I’ve made within the story as well. This has been a long journey and I hope you guys enjoying the end! For now, Enjoy thirteen! Join me on Tumblr if you like! I use the same user there as I do here!

Time went by slower when Marco was not around. Weeks usually flew by when Jean had been living by himself and days were nothing but seconds on a clock. It was a constant blur of work and home that blended together in an never ending cycle.

Without Marco, hours felt like eternity and Jean found himself staring at the clock constantly. Two weeks had been hell for Jean. Without Marco, those two weeks dragged on as if the days wanted to forever stay the same. 

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours of time that Jean spent without being able to communicate or see Marco. In those two weeks, Jean had hit rock bottom.

He had been fired from TitanneCorp for his large number of days missed. He understood their reasoning of course. TitanneCorp was a business and a business needed profitable people. Yet when Jean found out who was replacing him, the mousy haired man felt betrayed by the one man he called ‘best friend.’

Eren had apparently been trying to get Jean’s position for a while now and now he had it. Eren stopped calling and wouldn’t answer any of Jean’s messages or calls. It was safe to say that Eren had burned his bridge that connected him to Jean. 

Yet, knowing that he had lost his job, and that a close friend of his had not really been such a close friend, did not even measure up to the emptiness he felt without Marco. It wasn’t even that bad when Annie had left him in the middle of the night so long ago. 

Jean spent some of the time he had now that he was unemployed to clean up the large mess he had made of his home. He had trashed almost everything but the busy work kept him from thinking about Marco constantly.

He was sure that he had attacked Marco, but he still couldn’t remember several days that had passed while he was on a drinking binge. He probably would never be able to remember them, but he knew deep in his conscious and soul that he had attacked Marco.

He had hurt Marco so much in the last couple of months and Jean knew that he deserved every bad thing that was happening to him now. For the most part, Jean could deal with his shitty life. 

He just couldn’t deal without Marco. The younger man was different. He was a different type of everything. Marco was a different type of person, a different type of beauty and a different type of love. 

While Annie had only amplified his drinking habits, the thought of Marco made Jean hesitate against the activity. Marco had done something to Jean, even though the mousy haired man was not sure what, and left such an impact on his life.

Cleaning was his distraction, but soon that came to an end when he took the last bag of trash out to the garage can. All the stains had been wiped up, and the shards of broken glass were swept away.

He still felt broken and destroyed, but at least his house was somewhat presentable. The busy work of cleaning kept him from thinking, but now he had no distraction.

He didn’t drink. He eyed the liquor cabinet a few times, but Jean couldn’t find the will to go and pour himself a drink. It felt disgusting and almost sick every time he thought about drinking, for what it had caused him to do was inexcusable.

Jean contemplated suicide for a while. He sat on his bed, staring down at a bottle of pills that he knew would knock him out for the rest of his life. It would be too easy. 

All he needed to do was take a handful of the small blue pills and he would never have to deal with a dull sharp pain in his heart. 

He would never disappoint another single person and he would never hurt Marco ever again. He would never have to wake up again, feeling dull and empty and moving about is very day life on a default setting.

The pills were enticing and it felt like the best choice.

It felt like the best choice for Marco and Jean. If Jean were to simply go away, he would never have to opportunity to fuck up like he had been doing these last couple of months.

Yet Marco danced around in his head and he could hear, just inside the shell of his ear, all the reasons why he needed to be alive. 

Marco was the biggest reason. As much as he couldn’t live without Marco, Jean couldn’t think of dying knowing that things had been left unresolved. Most of his life was made of issues unresolved and he was not sure if he wanted to leave another problem open like he had so many other things.

Marco had given Jean a purpose. He gave Jean a reason to be a better person and to clean himself up. Marco had given him comfort and love when nobody else would. Marco was there, smiling and laughing when Jean couldn’t find anything to smile and laugh about.

Marco was his light. Marco had pulled Jean up from the darkness even when Jean had snarled and snapped at him the entire time.

“No.” Jean told himself, setting the pills on the nightstand and pulling himself up from the bed. 

Suicide was not the answer. 

Drinking was not the answer either. 

Jean had spent his entire life covering his feelings and problems with other things. Drinking been the one thing that allowed him to forget everything that had happened to him.

Instead of trying to better himself and to cope with the issues he had, he covered them up. He tried to drown them out in the hopes that if he drank enough, the memories would forever fade from his brain. 

Jean realized that he had been apathetic about himself for almost his entire life, until Marco came along.

Marco ignited something within Jean that he was not sure about at this point. It felt like a fire. It felt like passion and love. It felt like warmth, even if it was wrapped in aggravation and frustration and hurt. Marco was something in his life that he cherished and that he always wanted to cherish.

“I need to fix things.” It finally dawned on Jean what he needed to do.

Marco was someone worth fighting for and Jean needed to clean up his act. He needed to get his shit together for Marco. Marco was the hope at the end of the tunnel and the desire to be a better person.

Marco had filled a void in which Jean was not aware he had. While Marco had done nothing but nurture Jean, the mousy haired man’s own insecurities had fucked the entire thing up. His own demons snuffed out the light and happiness that Marco was so willing to offer Jean.

Jean had played the victim for too damn long when he could have been fixing his life instead of ignoring it with a bottle.

Jean was in love with Marco.

Jean has never wanted to fix himself before, even when people have suggested treatment and help for him. Now though, Jean wants to try.

He wants to fix himself for Marco.

Jean can't exactly pin down all the emotions and feelings that are twirling around in his heart, but in the dead center of it all is Marco Bodt. 

And now he wants nothing more than to run to Marco and confession all the things that are coming into the light for Jean now. 

However, before he could even get to that part, he had to fix himself. He had to resolve the issues that caused him such heartache and pain.

Jean had to remove the the source of pain and animosity that was rooted deeply within himself.

Before Jean can even begin to go forward with his life, he is going to need to move backward. He is going to have to burn bridges and face demons that he would have preferred to have forgotten along time ago.

He had to go see his father.

\----

It was a bad idea. It was a very bad idea and Jean was not sure why he thought it was a good idea to come back here.

He had not seen his childhood home since he left the day after graduation. Even then, the house had been a wreck. His father had done little to keep up the property then, but now it just looked like a shit storm came through and tore down any dignity the house had left.

Anything that could have possibly reminded Jean of his mother’s touch had completely vanished. The gravel driveway was almost completely overgrown with tall spikes of grass and dandelions. The fence around the house was either leaning forward or completely missing in sections altogether.

The front of the house used to be littered with different variations of flowers and plants. Jean could vividly remember when spring descended on their small little home and colors would just explode around the yard in variations of blues, yellows and the occasional soft hues of pink.

Now, the lawn was overgrown in what little areas of grass that was left. Weeds infested the flower beds his mother so lovingly cared for when she was alive. 

The shingles across the roof of the house were aged and weathered and there was no indication that anyone had tried to replace them. The paint, having been peeling off when Jean had left so long ago, was almost completely gone from the side of the house now. 

The amount of care was very little but Jean knew very well his father still remained at the house. Joan’s address hadn’t changed in over twenty years. 

If that was not enough, the beer bottles scattered across the front yard were some indication that a drunk bastard lived within the remains of a shell of a house.

The remains of a life that could have been so bright and beautiful.

Jean hesitated slightly, remaining in his car even after he saw the curtains shift just behind the dirty glass window. Joan knew somebody is here, but Jean doubts that he knows that its his son.

Slowly, knees shaking slightly, Jean removes himself from the car and closes the door as quietly as he can with no reason as to why he did it. He stands, taking in his former home. It could have had so many good memories had they not been choked out by all the bad ones. 

He could almost see himself, running around in the yard as a small kid, not a single care in the world as his mother watched him from the kitchen window. 

He could see himself just on the other side of the house, behind the large oak tree where he had his first kiss by one of his friend’s brother who had just gotten home from college.

Jean could see himself in the shed, that looked old and hollow now, after his father had locked him in there overnight for not washing the dishes correctly. 

Taking a deep gulp of much needed air, Jean found the will to move his legs and headed towards the front porch. Joan was sitting there, staring out behind the screen door at Jean and his face hardened when he got a true look at the younger man. 

Joan had aged, like most men do, but he was still tall and large around the shoulders. His stomach protruded a bit, most likely from all the liquor he consumed and a poor diet. His face held more wrinkles than Jean last remembered, but his eyes were still as cold as steel and it made Jean nervous just looking at them. His hair was peppered with white strands and his beard was no longer as dark as Jean could remember it. 

His eyes were the only constant. They still held that angry fire and disgust that had a younger Jean trembling in the corner of his room.

“Boy.”

Jean flinched, even if he did not mean to. It felt more like a habit than anything else. Joan didn’t even have the decency to call Jean by his name. Not when he was small and not now either. Old habits die hard for some people. 

“Dad.” Jean murmured as he twisted his hands together in nervous habit. No words passed between them for a second or two, before Joan unlatched the door and moved away from it. 

Jean took it as an invitation to go in.

He kept his back to the wall and never turned away from his father. He kept eyes on him at all times and made sure there was a safe distance between them. It had been years since Joan was able to lay a hand on Jean, but that didn’t stop the man from taking extra precautions that he had learned to use at a younger age.

Joan didn't seem as nearly effected by Jean’s presence as Jean was by Joan’s.

The old man walked over to his recliner and sat down, picking back up the beer he had been nursing before Jean had made a surprised arrival. 

“Surely you didn’t come here to stare at me like a fucking idiot.” Joan spoke up, flipping through some of the tv channels that played across the fuzzy T.V screen. 

Jean nodded and while he had what he was going to say and do planned out before he arrived, it all went out the door in a single moment.

All he could think about were all the terrible memories of the house and his father. They flooded in and his heart felt like it was being squeezed. Jean remembered being trapped in the closet for long periods of time.

Jean remembered being lashed at with a belt and being beaten against the kitchen table until he couldn’t walk anymore. 

And try as he might, Jean could not grasp onto the good memories, like ones of his mother, that helped to ground him in a time like this.

He felt like he was drowning and the man knew he should have ran. Jean should have ran as fast as he could out of the house and leave well enough alone. 

He didn’t.

“I wanted to talk about mom.”

“What about her?” Joan snapped, eyes narrowing as they turned to Jean. 

The mousy haired man went silent, not entirely sure what he wanted to talk about. There was so much that was unsaid and then there was so much that had been said that had never worked before. 

Jean didn’t know where to start or where to end. He had not come there to even talk about his mother, yet he had spouted out his words before his brain could filter them. 

“I wanted to talk about...when she-...when she died.”

“Your Mother killed herself because apparently it was easier to do than to have an abortion.” Joan spoke, his tone infuriatingly neutral as if the words spewing from his mouth were nothing but facts. “She had her whole life ahead of her, and you ended it. You are the direct reason she killed herself, Jean. She couldn’t handle the thought of a mistake like you.”

“No. No! You aren’t going to sit here and spin this shit to me. She couldn’t handle a life with you!” Jean snapped, eyes dilated and wild as he stared at the aging man sitting in the recliner who still had the same malice and hatred woven in his system.

It was like a switch and Jean no longer felt control over his body, mind or mouth. The words came spewing forward in a waterfall of words, tumbling from his mouth before it registered what he was actually saying. 

All the rage he had held onto came bubbling forward. All the memories of darkness and pain surging forward in one devastating wave that Jean felt his knees wobble just a bit. He shook, his hands still gripping one another as he glared at his father as if he was looking at hell itself.

“I’m not a child anymore. You don’t get to fuck with my mind anymore.”

“You seem to be doing just a fine job of that on your own, boy.” Joan retaliated, bringing the can of beer to his cracked and thin lips.

Jean shook with anger that boiled deep within him. How dare his father sit there, old and weak, yet still continue to torment Jean as if he was nothing. This was a bad idea. This was not helping at all and if anything, it was making things worse.

“I saw the police report. She had bruising. Scars and handprints all over her. A fractured rib? What kind of person would beat themselves up before ending their own life?!”

“You probably would. Sadly enough it doesn’t seem like you’ve been man enough to take the plunge, boy.” 

Joan was avoiding the subject and that only added fuel to the raging fire growing inside of Jean.

“You abused her! You abused her for so long! And on that day-on that day she was done letting you control her.”

“She was done with having you as a son.”

“Stop turning this around!!” Jean screamed, taking a few steps forward and ready to smash his hand against his father’s face. He stopped short, finding his sense and knowing that this is what his father wanted. His father wanted this kind of reaction.

Jean took a moment to breath and step away. He collected himself as his father stared at him as if he was an animal in a zoo. 

Jean had not come here to become more angry. He came here for closure and clarity and to let go of the things that caused him so much pain and agony.

He was there to find some kind of comfort, even if it would not come from his father. He had stopped trying to get comfort from his father since his mother had died. Probably even before that. 

He opened his mouth, but his father beat him to talking.

“Are you going to stand there like a fool?” Joan asked as he took a swing of his beer before tossing the empty can onto the stained carpet that Maria adored at one point in time.

Jean closes his mouth because, if he is honest with himself, he is not sure what he wants to say. There is so much to say, not only to his father but to his deceased mother. 

He had it all planned out. It was going to be easy, but Jean should have known that healing was not easy. It was never supposed to be easy. So, he steadies himself with a few calming breaths.

He zeros in on Marco, because he is the one that is fueling Jean’s need to recover and to become a better man. He thinks about all the love and beautiful emotions that Marco has caused and how much pain he had given Marco in return.

He had become no better than his father and that was possibly the worst thing Jean could ever become. 

With one more deep breath, Jean opens his mouth again to talk, letting the words slip from his lips with ease. He didn’t plan it at all to go like this, and doesn’t even realize what he is saying before he says it.

Yet as the words bloom in the air, he feels the weight of a thousand tons leave his shoulders.

“I can’t say I love you. And you probably don’t want me to. You could care less if I loved you, as to where I would have sold my soul to hear you say it. Just three words, even if you didn’t mean them. I just wanted you to say them. Now..I just..I just wanted to come to see you to get some kind of closure. Not even for myself. This isn’t even about me. “ Jean began, as eveningly as he possibly could, given the circumstance. He vaguely wondered if this is what Marco would feel like, talking to Jean. That single thought created dread within Jean’s soul. The man never wanted Marco to be afraid of him like Jean was of his father.

“ I want you to know, that just because you hated me and you probably hated yourself, Its not gunna keep me from loving myself anymore. And its not gunna keep other people from loving me. Its taken me so many years to figure that out. I’ve wasted my life away. Even after I left I let you control me. I let your words take root and manifest and destroy and cause me to rot and deteriorate as a person. I’ve hurt so many people because of you, and even then I can’t blame you because I willingly hurt people. Its not like you could hold a gun to my head anymore. I hurt people freely because somewhere deep in my mind, I thought that it was just the natural way of things. I thought the natural way of things was to drink until my liver died and ached and I couldn’t remember my days.” Jean choked a little bit, not realizing that he was crying until he felt the wetness across his face. Joan scoffed, rolling his eyes with a slight snarl. A hurtful comment was just on the tip of his tongue, but Jean’s voice came out more powerful than ever, cutting his father off before he could get the first word out.

“I was no better than you. I’ve seen below rock bottom. I’ve hurt and destroyed almost every good thing I've had in my life because of you and somehow I still can’t blame you and yet I can and this anger I feel seems to always come back to you. And I am done with it. I am done with letting your hate destroy me. I am done with being angry with you, which is why I am letting it out now. Letting out this last fit of aggression because I need it. I did everything I could to make you love me. I wanted you to be proud of me. I wanted your acceptance. I wanted your love. All I ever got was pain and abuse from you! I never did anything wrong! I was never the problem!”

“ Now, I realize, I don’t need it. I don’t need some fucked up seal of approval from you when I had it from other people all along. And I need to say this to you because this is the last time you will see me. Because while I don’t love you, and I don’t think I can ever love you, I don’t hate you anymore. I don’t hate myself anymore. You aren’t apart of my life anymore. You won’t see me again. ”

“You’ve said that before Jean.” Joan said, his tone indifferent to the rant his son just went through. He continued to sit on the recliner as stare at the T.V. Nothing seemed to change about Joan over the years and Jean just shook his head. He didn’t want to be like his father. He didn’t want to be the angry drunk that had nothing else in the world to live for. 

He wanted to live and be loved and to experience happiness and joy, something that Marco had showed him he could have, it just took some effort on Jean’s part.

Marco had changed everything for Jean, but Jean had to put in effort if he wanted to see any kind of result. That is what led him here, to his father’s home and to the point of having a mental breakdown just so he could have some closure and actual live a decent life.

“I was still a boy then. Now. Now I’m a man. Now I am free. The difference is that I left with anger. I leave with nothing this time. Because ya know what? I forgive you.”


	15. The Restart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean finally gets to sit down and talk with Marco, face to face. Will he be able to find his words? Will he be able to fix things or will Marco brush him off forever and their lives take different paths?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Chapter! We are so close to the end! The next chapter! This is it! Hold your breath! I wonder how you guys think this is going to end! Again, I want to thank ALL of you who have commented, bookmarked or left Kudos! I hope I made you all smile, laugh and cry with the two lovely people who are the stars of our story. I hope you guys enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope that you stick around for more of my fics! The Next Chapter is the last!

It felt different, not being shit-faced most of the week and weekend. The days didn’t bleed together anymore in an unthinkable blur of time and space. Mondays were still a bitch, but Jean suspected that it was just the natural order of things.

Jean felt better, more active and found himself picking up different habits now that he had the time to do so. 

He no longer felt like he was looking at the world through the bottom of a glass and felt his body respond almost immediately to the sudden change in his lifestyle. He began to walk more and even took up gardening in his backyard, albeit it was a bit of a shabby garden even for Jean’s lack of a green thumb.

He worked out a bit with the equipment stored in his basement and even started eating healthier than normal, even though he still wouldn’t go near celery.

It had been rough, like most things were in his life but he got through them and was still working on some. However, out of all the things that were difficult to do, throwing the bottles of liquor away was not one of them, surprisingly enough.

He had hesitated only slightly as he held the bottles, but Marco crossed his mind only once before he tossed them away, taking satisfaction from the broken glass in a different way now. 

He didn’t need those bottles anymore. He needed Marco.

He felt cleaner and healthier. His mind no longer held the constant fuzz and he found that doing simple tasks were just easier now. There was no longer a thick and unbearable fog in his mind, keeping him from thinking straight and clearly.

He had lost his job and there were a couple of bills he was behind on, but Jean wouldn’t trade his current position for the world. He was free and he felt free. Eren could have his job and his cubicle and the paycheck that went with it. Jean had his life back and nobody could ever put a price tag on that.

He was free of the grip that alcohol had on him. He was free of the pain that he carried around with him that had manifested from his father’s abuse and his mother’s death. Jean felt like he was human and there was no better feeling than that.

He still felt empty, and suspected that it was the lack of contact that he had with Marco. It was obvious that he could not just go see the brunette right after his visit with his father. Jean had a lot of things he needed to fix.

He still had a lot of things he had to fix with Marco. So he cleaned himself up first. He gave himself and Marco the time they both needed to be away from each other. He gathered himself and sorted his thoughts and feelings because he truly did love Marco and wanted him back.

However, Jean had always prepared himself for the worst case scenario, even since he was a small child. There was a very good chance that Marco never wanted to come back. 

There was a chance that Marco would turn him away at the door and never want to see Jean’s face again as long as the Earth turned on its axis. Jean had to try though. He had gotten so far in his personal recovery and he just had to try.

Trying to fix things the best he could with Marco was what he wanted the most and felt like the final step to final closure.

Just like going to see his dad, Jean tried to prepare himself for Marco and what he would see. He tried to prepare himself for Reiner and the snide comments he would receive. Jean tried to prepare himself for the guilt he knew would surface. 

Jean could prepare all he wanted, but when it came to Marco opening the door and the sight of the light scars that were scattered across the brunette’s beautiful face, Jean lost all of his preparation. 

They stared at each other for the longest time, having a sort of silent conversation even though neither one was entirely sure what the other was saying. Jean was terrified at what he saw. The scars were light and fading, but he knew that he had put them there, yet was afraid to ask how. He was afraid to get all the details about how he attacked Marco.

Marco picked up on his glances. It seemed to make the brunette squirm a bit and a flush of self-consciousness spread across his neck. He must have looked horrible, at least from the way Jean was looking at him. Everybody was looking at Marco like that now. 

Marco couldn’t even go to the grocery store without people staring at him like he was some kind of freak. Now Jean was staring at him like a freak.

They sat like that for a little while longer, taking in each other’s appearance as if they had never before laid eyes on the man standing just opposite of them. The silence did not last long when Reiner piped up from somewhere in the house. 

“Marco? Who’s at the door?” Reiner’s voice is distinct and booming, wafting through the hall as he called from the kitchen. The couple and Marco had been in the middle of making dinner when Jean had knocked on the door. 

When the brunette hesitated to answer, Jean could hear the thumping of footsteps before the blond appeared behind Marco, face twisting up into a scowl when he noticed Jean standing on his porch.

“Oh no. Get off my lawn.” Reiner snapped, taking the door in his hand and preparing to slam it shut. He gripped Marco’s arm with his other hand, gently tugging the young man behind him in a fatherly and protective manner. 

Jean should have seen it coming and in retrospect, he had totally forgotten about Reiner for a microsecond. He had forgotten about everything the minute he had seen Marco. The world paused when he saw Marco. Time stood still and it was as if air itself was suspsended for the few beats of time they had alone together.

He turned, ready to leave and return back to his empty home when Marco spoke out.  
“Stay.”

It was a small word, spoken softly from trembling lips as Marco stood slightly behind Reiner. Jean was shocked to say the complete least, as well was Reiner, who felt nothing but anger and rage towards Jean. 

Reiner did not feel comfortable letting Jean near Marco. He didn’t want Jean to even have a chance to hurt Marco again, but the brunette wanted to give Jean a chance for some reason or another. Reiner still didn’t trust it. Reiner didn’t trust Marco’s judgement, finding that the brunette was a romantic and soft hearted type. 

It didn’t take much to sway Marco, and Reiner didn’t want Jean to have the chance to influence Marco into coming back when the blond knew very well it was not a good idea. 

“Marco-” Reiner looked down at the thinner, small male, confusion written across his face and a bit of sadness embedded in his eyes. He was not sure what to think of Marco’s actions, whether they be out of some sort of stockholm syndrome stupor or out of the need to see Jean. Neither option sounded good to Reiner.

“He hurt you.” Reiner stated, wanting to remind Marco why he was trying to separate himself away from Jean in the first place. 

“I know.” Marco nodded gently as he tangled his fingers together in nervous habit. ‘I know. But you’re here. Bertholdt’s here. I’m safe. And...and, I want to talk to him.”

“I want to talk to you, too.” Jean spoke up and the look that Reiner shot him for just speaking a phrase sent a cold shiver hopping down his spinal cord. 

However, Reiner, after a long internal debate with himself, let Jean into his home and slammed the door anyway, most likely to send jolts of panic through Jean’s body. Reiner kept himself between Marco and Jean as they walked, entering the rather large and spacious livingroom with several floor to ceiling windows.

“Sit.” Reiner commanded, pointing to a small loveseat that was just to the side of a large, L-shaped couch. In no position to argue, Jean bent his knees and made himself as comfortable as he could be given the circumstances.

Marco sat on the far edge of the couch, legs tucked under him and hands folded into his lap. Reiner went to take a seat as well, but stopped just short when Marco shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I promise Rei.” Jean was a bit shocked at the use of such an affectionate nickname.

“Are you sure?” The blond asked, motioning over to Jean as if he was some kind of wild animal waiting to be set loose. “I don’t exactly trust him.”

“You’ll be right there in the kitchen. I’ll call if I need you. I just..I need to talk to him alone, Reiner.” Marco stated, patting the taller man’s hand and sending him a soft smile. 

“Everyone one here knows you can snap Jean in half, you don’t have to be in the same room to enforce that fact.” Marco added with a bit of uplifting tone in his voice. It didn’t completely cover the tremble in his words.

Reiner hesitated a bit, not sure about Marco’s sense of judgement for a second or two. He gave in though, nodding shortly and moving across the room. “Any trouble at all Jean, and its curtains for you.” 

The clicheness of the threat didn’t detract from its meaning at all for Jean. 

Once Reiner’s presence had disappeared altogether, the two young adults sat in silence just like they had been when Marco had opened the door.

Jean was not sure what to say or where to even start. There was so much to cover and so much to try and correct that it felt like it would take just one lifetime to explain it all. 

And then another lifetime to act on all the promises that Jean had in his head.

Marco twiddled his thumbs gently, watching his fingers as if they were the most interesting things in the world to him. Jean could see the slight tremor of Marco’s body and it registered that the brunette was still frightened. 

“Marco-”

“I worked a little bit. I had a few odd and end jobs while I was staying here and there was nothing really I liked. I couldn’t focus on much.” Marco murmured as he ran a shaking hand through his already tussled hair. 

He had to talk. It didn’t matter about what he talked about, but if Marco could just start talking, ramble on and get the wheels turning, he might be able to talk about what happened. Marco might be able to face the reality of things.

The reality of Jean.

“Ma-”

“I even went on a few dates. It was something that Berti had suggested. Some of his friends were very sweet and kind. They shared my same interests as I did. Most of them loved art and we just talked for hours about Monet or Warhol. “ The smile that formed on Marco’s face was painful to watch. 

It was like a knife twisting inside Jean’s heart, listening to Marco talk so fondly of other men. 

“I remember this one man. He was actually a bit older than you, but you could never tell by his looks. He worked at a ranch, one of the foreman and he was just a true gentleman. This was his first time in the city.”

“I...I’m glad you’re happy, Marco.” Jean bit out, trying not to sound jealous and seething, because that would serve no purpose but to further push Marco away. And he was truly glad that Marco was happy, even if it stung a bit knowing that Jean couldn’t cause that happiness.

“Its nice to know that you are are glad. I wasn’t happy though. “Marco admitted, turning to finally look Jean in the eye. “I tried to be happy, because these guys were great guys. The jobs I held were great jobs. Hell, one of them allowed me to paint all day and get paid for it.”

Jean shifted, crossing his leg over his knee because he was not sure where this was going and he felt the air turn uncomfortable. He couldn’t deal with an emotional Marco as well as he thought he could. 

“I should have been happy and I was not. Every date I went on, I saw golden eyes. I saw pale hair. I found myself watching just over their shoulder, remember plastic take out boxes and shared laughs in a dimly lit kitchen.”

Hope bloomed like spring flower inside of Jean’s soul and he gripped the arm of the loveseat, hanging onto every word that slipped out of Marco’s mouth.

“Every time I thought I was happy, you would find your way out of the back of my mind and into my current thoughts. You were there in just about everything I did. Whether it be good or bad. I’ve had dreams about you-” Marco whispered, taking his bottom lip between his lip.

“I’ve had nightmares about you as well.” Marco added when the silence stretched across them.

“I...I am not sure what to say.” Jean replied, daring a look at Marco.

“I didn’t think you would, Jean. I didn’t expect you to. You weren’t much of words unless they hurt someone.”

And that was a low blow for the ever cheerful and loveable Marco.

“You’ve hurt me in so many ways and it took physical violence for me to see how bad of a man you are for me.”

The more Marco talked, the colder and emptier Jean felt. The bloom of hope wilted and died without much fanfare. He prepared himself for the goodbye. He prepared himself to leave and not be able to see Marco ever again. He felt his world shake and crumble because this was goodbye. Marco was telling him goodbye.

Jean was thankful for the numbness as it set in. It easily covered up the pain that spread across his insides and while he tried his best to ignore the urges to find the nearest liquor bottle, he knew that by the time he got home, he would be back to his old ways.

“I can’t forgive you. Not yet. Not with what you’ve done to me, yet I cannot find it in my heart to hate you either. I still love you, Jean. But I don’t think you deserve my love.” 

And it was not a goodbye but it was not a fix either. Marco still wanted him. Jean could hear it in his words and when he looked at Marco, he could see it deep somewhere in his eyes. Marco wanted to love Jean, but Jean had given him every reason to leave and not turn back.

The mousy haired man couldn’t handle the sudden range of emotions that floated from himself and Marco. He suddenly felt like he was drowning, similar to the feeling when he drank too much.

He changed the topic as fast as he could, turning it to anything else other than the current conversation at hand. He thought he was ready to discuss his feelings and thoughts, but his words ceased up with guilt, fear and another emotion he could not put tabs on. 

“I’m moving.” Jean blurted out, and once the word vomit started, there was no putting a stop to it. 

“I decided that I needed to move. I mean. I’ve done a lot of thinking while you were gone. I...I went to see my dad and I can understand why that doesn’t seem like a big deal to you but maybe one day you’ll know.” He murmured, keeping his eyes locked onto the doorway that led into the kitchen.

There was a bit of mild surprise brewing within Jean. He had half-way excepted Reiner to come back within at least five minutes. 

“I did a lot of thinking. I did a lot of soul searching-...I guess that is what its called.” Jean continued to ramble, twiddling his thumbs like Marco had been doing moments ago. It did little to help his nerves.

“I threw away my stash of...stuff. I realize I have done you wrong. I’ve done a lot of things wrong. I’ve done wrong all my life and I want to fix things. I really do, I understand if you can’t find it to be with me again. I don’t deserve you, like you have said. I just wanted to talk to you. This might be the last time I get to talk to you. And I wanted you to know how truly-”

He stopped, the wetness traveling down his cheeks startling him slightly. He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand and did his best to continue, even with the hurricane of thoughts and feelings swirling dangerously close to the surface.

“I am sorry for everything I have done to you. You’ve given me so much, Marco. You’ve given me life and love and happiness. You’ve changed me like no other person has before. you’ve made me a better person because I couldn’t bare the thought of living without you. But if I continued with my ways, I would live without you. I am living without you because I blamed everyone else for my misfortune and not me. I didn’t fix the problem, I hid it. You. You, Marco, pulled back the veil that I hid reality with. You made me see. And while I will never, ever be able to adequately apologize for the words that I’ve hurt you with. For how I’ve hurt you so much, I can atleast tell you that I can never repay you for what you’ve done for me.”

Jean swallowed thickly, eyes flicking back to Marco’s form and staying there, watching the brunette stare intently back at him. 

“There is not enough money in the world to repay you for everything you’ve done for me. And its only made me fall in love with you even more. I’ve fucked up. I’m changing for the better but I’ve fucked up. I’ve lost my job, my dog and now my home. So, I’m moving. I’m starting fresh because I need to. To keep on this road of betterment, I need to move. Not far, just the next state over. There is this nice little apartment I found online. Cheap, easy to clean and all that.” 

“Thats great, Jean.” Marco whispered, playing with the ends of his hair, which had grown to a longer length now that Jean was looking at the strands.”It is really great that you’re improving yourself-”

“Come with me.” Jean interrupted, not sure why he did it or why he was asking such an outlandish thing from the man he had attacked and abused. It was worth a shot. It was worth the small effort to try. 

“Jean-”

“Come with me. I love you, Marco and I want you to come with me. We can start over-” Jean wished he didn’t sound so desperate and lonely. 

“There is no starting over. There is no restart to this, Jean. Understand me when I say that I care about you. I want you to be happy At one point there was nothing more that I wanted than to be with you, but things have changed and you and I both know that. Things cannot be the same.”

Marco held up a hand to silence Jean before he started to speak again. Marco was far from finished.

“That does not mean I don’t wanna try, Jean. I want to try with you because I feel this loneliness. I feel empty without you, but I also feel fear when I am with you. And thats not healthy. We need to take baby steps and going with you to a new state is not a baby step. Living with you again at all is not a baby step. We need time.”

Time. 

Jean had already spent so much time with Marco as it was. 

Now Marco wanted to spend even more time separated and Jean felt conflicted by the statement. Marco wanted to try and work things out, but he didn’t want to work them out as fast as Jean wanted to work them out.

He nodded, none the less. He tried to understand, and for the most part, could understand why Marco was so hesitant to get back together with him. Marco didn’t want to get hurt again, in any sense of the word.

“I understand. I know. I didn’t expect anything else. Everything takes time.” The words sounded so fake, even to Jean, but atleast they were out there now. At least he had gotten it out. 

“I hope you do well out there, Jean. I know you will. You were always good at all the things you’ve done. And now that you’ve become this better man, you can only do better. I’m sure of it.” Marco smiled, brightly, just like the first time that Jean had met him. 

It seemed just so far away now, finding Marco’s poster on the damp and dirty ground when he was stumbling home drunk that lone night. It was so long enough, when Jean had faced planted on the ground, coming face to face with a babysitting service poster with Marco’s beautiful face on it.

It had been so long ago, and Jean would have never of guess then that it would have come to this. Jean supposed that he didn’t really guess Annie would divorce him either. 

“You’ll call right?” Jean asked, timidly and a small tremor to his voice. He hated sounding so weak and small, but the more he tried to control himself and his emotions, the more his walls broken and left him vulnerable.

“Yeah, I will Jean.”

“You won’t forget about me?”

“I could never forget about you, Jean.”

“I could never forget you either.” 

Marco chuckled as he stared at Jean. “Maybe in a couple of months time, I can come out and visit you? After you get yourself settled, of course?”

It felt normal and nice and warmed the edges of his heart. As much as he wanted to say things were going back to normal, he knew he would be lying to himself. 

It was not normal, but it was start. It was not a restart.

But it was a start.


	16. The Final

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We come to the end of our journey, as many of us will do when our life ticks away. Sometimes, its not always what we get in the end of our journey, but the lives we have touched on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FINAL CHAPTER IS OUT OMG! This took a while to do and I am glad I can give you guys a completed story! I would really like to hear all your comments about this story! And once again, Thank you for sticking with me through all this! I look forward to see you guys when I start some more fics!

The amount of time that had passed still surprised Jean. Months and weeks had passed by so fast since Marco had first stepped into his life. Time flew by as if it had been put into overdrive and Jean wished that it would slow down.

There didn’t seem to be enough time to spend with Marco. 

The city was a difference pace. It was a different life and a new start to a better life that Jean had promised himself. His apartment was smaller than his house back home. He lived in a neighborhood that was not as high class as the one he previous dwelled in.

His job as a low end accountant for a small private company did not pay nearly as much as TitanneCorp did, but Jean felt like his life was on a whole new level of completion and happiness. 

His routine was oddly the same though, with the exceptions of a few odds and ends. He got up and went to work and came home to an empty apartment. Instead of popping open a beer or breaking into his liquor cabinet though, Jean would start some dinner and listen to the constant hum from the city as it wafted through the open balcony doors.

He would tend to his plants that were scattered across his hallway, living room and balcony and make sure that they were thriving well. His favorite was still the foxglove he had planted in the long rectangular box sitting on his balcony. They reminded him of pretty little bells. 

The sun would fade across the cityscape and when night fell and the orange hues disappeared and ceased to illuminate his apartment, Jean would flop down onto his small, blue sofa and flip open his laptop. He would make himself comfortable, sometimes ignoring the dirty dishes in the sink, and flipped the T.V just for a bit of background noise before opening up his video chat software.

Marco and himself had been video chatting since Jean had settled into his apartment a few months ago. They talked like they had never talked before and the mousy haired man had found himself falling in love with Marco all over again.

He had learned things about Marco that he either couldn’t remember or had simply never asked about. Marco was an amazing person before, but without a drunk filter, Marco was an absolute saint and gift from the gods to bless a simple man like Jean.

Marco had gotten a few side jobs, but nothing that he was overly interested in. He kept them to continue to pay for his college classes even though Reiner had insisted that he take care of them. Marco would chuckle deeply as he talked about the couple. 

“They remind me of this couple you see on this magazine or tv personality. They are so cute sometimes that its almost ridiculous.” Marco giggled, his mouth spreading wide as he smiled a toothy grin.  
Marco continued to live with Reiner and Bertholdt and the couple took such good care of Marco as if he was their son. 

Sometimes, the two of them would just talk about Marco which happened to be Jean’s favorite subject. Marco was so close to being done with college and it showed on the brunette’s face how excited he was to have a degree. 

Jean noticed that when Marco was passionate about something, he could talk about it for hours nonstop and that is what Marco did when they got onto the subject of teaching. Marco could never run out of topics to speak about when it came to teaching. 

Jean cherished these moments. He felt more connected and more in love with Marco than he ever did when Marco was living with him. It served as a reminder of how much Jean had missed because of his problem. 

And he vowed to never miss that much again. He was straight and clean now, had been that way for months now and he wanted to make up all the lost time with Marco as soon as possible. 

He knew not to rush it though, to let things progress on Marco’s time and not his. Jean was willing to let Marco call the shots because he loved Marco and love was about compromise. And since Jean had no room to ask for compromise, Marco called all the shots.

Finally, though, after long video chats that lasted well into the night and gifts exchanged through the postal service, Marco had agreed to come visit Jean for the weekend.

It made Jean elated with joy to know that Marco trusted him enough again to come see him, without the presence of Reiner right behind the brunette the entire time. 

All the hard work and dedication that Jean had put in had paid off. His endless journey to be a better person was coming full circle. He was excited and happy and nervous all at the same time because Marco was coming to see him.

Jean had never felt so young in his entire life.

He spent the week preparing for Marco’s arrival. He went out and bought snacks that Marco liked and even got him double stuffed brownies from a bakery down a few blocks because Marco would swoon over brownies. 

The mousy haired man cleaned and vacuumed, leaning not a single spot of dust on any of the surface area in his apartment. Everything had to be perfect for Marco because Marco deserved nothing but the best. 

Jean went as far as planning dinner out for the weekend, going and by the supplies needed to make Marco’s favorite for every night.

He rented a couple of movies, some horror and some romantic comedies because he couldn’t decide. He purchased a few scented candles just to be romantic, even though he was sure that the last thing Marco wanted to do was sleep with Jean when he arrived.

Jean made up his room as well. He changed the sheets and fluffed all the pillows. He also pulled out some spare sheets so he, himself, he could sleep comfortably on the couch while Marco slept on the bed. 

Everything was as perfect as it could be and the only thing missing was Marco. Jean felt like a kid waiting up on Christmas Eve for Santa Claus. He was jittering and twitchy with the anticipation of picking up Marco at the airport.

It was going to be the best weekend of his life, Jean was sure of it. 

\----

The plane crashed on a Saturday Morning in the early hours just before the stars faded and bowed out to the powerful rays of the sun. It had been some kind of malfunction the engine that could only be described as a freak accident.

It had been a one in one hundred chance of the engine failing like it did. It was a tragic accident that could have happened to any one plane, but was not something that was common at all.

The place crashed into a field, avoiding any major towers or mass populations. The smoke could been seen from at least five miles away and the news stations aired the story for almost an entire week. The crash had burned down parts of the forest surrounding the field, but that had been the worst damage. 

There had been no survivors. 

That was to be expected considering the plane crashed directly into the ground. 

Jean had first saw the story when he was munching on some stale cereal, flipping through the channels on the T.V and stopping when he caught a glimpse of large flames swirling across the screen.

He instantly flipped back and watched the story with careful eyes and ears. There was no proof that it had been Marco’s plane that had crashed. There was no physical evidence to prove that Marco was gone forever.

Jean just felt it in his soul. He felt like half of him was gone as he watched new information flash across the screen every hour. 

Three hundred people had been on the plane and Jean knew, without actual proof, that Marco had been one of them. He wondered what Marco had been doing before the plane went down. That thought alone would haunt Jean for the rest of his life.

The story is still new and fresh when Reiner calls him a few days later, officially breaking the news to Jean that yes, it had been Marco’s plane.

Jean was not sure why he was surprised. He knew, deep down in his bones far before Reiner’s phone call that Marco was dead. 

He supposed that as long as he didn’t have actual confirmation, he could go on pretending just a bit longer. 

Jean couldn’t do that anymore now. Even if he had not answered the phone, like he thought about doing, Reiner would have left a message and that would have been harder to take.

Even if Jean had deleted the message, Reiner would have called back. Marco would not be at the airport, waiting for him. Jean, as much as he thought he could and really wanted to, could not run from the truth. 

Marco was gone from this world, taking with him part of Jean to heaven or paradise or whatever may be after someone dies. 

It didn’t matter where Marco was going. All that matter was that Marco was no longer there, with Jean or with Reiner and Bertholdt. 

Marco, the shining star of brightness and cheeriness was gone, struck down at such a young and tender age. 

Jean called into work, attempting to do the right thing and maintain his life that he had worked so hard to build again. He sat alone, in the darkness of his apartment and stared out the windows, watching as the small outlines of planes take off and land from the airport across the city.

It could have been any one of those planes. Instead, it was Marco’s. Hundreds of planes take off and land every day across the world. There are so many working parts and pieces to the machinery, and so many factors that could have led to any one plane falling out of the sky.

Jean was not sure of the statistics, but he could guess that it was not often a plane fell from the sky. 

Jean couldn’t remember crying this hard before in his life. When his mother died, it had been more confusion before he got older and the sadness set in.

His mother’s death was different. Jean had time to cope with his mother’s death before he was even old enough to be aware of her actual grave. 

With Marco, Jean was very aware of the absence. The air felt different and Jean felt just a bit of himself die with Marco. 

He felt so incomplete that it physically hurt him. It made his heart shrink to know that Marco would never walk through the door of his apartment. Marco would never see how well Jean had done to be a better man.

Jean would never see Marco smile again, so Jean cried for days and days until it seemed like his tears dried up and turned into dry sobs. 

It crossed his mind to reach for the bottle. It would be so easy to return to his crutch and ease the pain with a familiar presence and the funny part about it as that Jean was sure that no one would blame him.

Jean was sure that people were actually expecting him to start drinking again and revert back to his old ways and just because Marco died it would be okay now, even though it was not okay then. Reiner would probably sympathize with him now, even though the blond had been the same man chastising Jean for being a ‘drunken bastard’ in the first place.

Jean didn’t touch the stuff though. He refused to because even though he was in so much pain and wanted to forget the fact that Marco was gone, he couldn’t drink again. He couldn’t waste all the work he had done and turn into a mess again.

Because, while Marco was gone now, gone forever and taking his bright and beautiful personality with him, Marco had changed Jean. Marco had changed Jean and the mousy haired man was not sure if Marco knew how deep Jean had been affected by his presence. 

Marco had walked into Jean’s life as a kid and as a stranger. So long ago, when they first met, Jean could have never of guessed what the outcome of their meeting would be. 

He could have never guessed that his life would be altered like it had been. He never would have assumed that a kid like Marco could have such an impact on him, but Marco did. 

\---

Marco was beautiful, in every sense of the world. He was kind and gentle, loving and adoring. He wrapped every person he came in contact with in a warm hug and showered them with gentle smiles. 

Marco was a diamond among the many dirty, rotten people that were born everyday. Jean was sure that there would never be another person who could ever be like the saintly Marco. 

There would be no other person that could have changed Jean, like Marco had. Marco had given Jean a purpose to be a better person. Marco had made him face his demons and his flaws and while the transformation was painful, it was worth it.

Jean knew he would never fully get over Marco’s death. There would be a constant hole in his life that no warm body or tonic could fill. Jean would cope, because he knew how to cope and he would survive because he knew how to survive.

It would just be him without Marco now. 

Yet, Jean knew that even though Marco was gone, the brunette would have been proud of him. Marco still loves him, even if he can’t be there physically to hug and kiss Jean and make things all better. 

And even though there is a hole, Jean’s life doesn’t feel as hollow anymore, not since it had been influenced by Marco’s touch and words. Marco had helped to fill a void that had been eating away at Jean for years.

Jean would never be able to repay Marco for that. He would never have the chance.

He visits Marco when he can, making trips back home to sit by Marco’s grave and talk with him. Eventually, one day, Jean might be able to stop going out there and move forward, but that day was not anytime soon. 

On most occasions, Jean would just sit, staring at the dark grey slate that had Marco’s name carved in it. At least Marco was able to be buried by his parents. Jean was sure that the brunette would have not wanted it any other way.

Everyone now and then, Jean sits in his room, alone in his small apartment and just watches the sunset dip below the cityscape. It gets better, which each day that passes. Jean trudges forward because that is what Marco would have wanted.

Marco would have wanted him happy, and Jean would like to think he is as happy as he could be. He smiles and lives his life as if Marco had never disappeared. 

Sometimes, when its dark and the city seems quite, Jean will reach under his bed and pull out a photo book. Its new and not used. Its binded and rather thick and large. On the very first page of the photobook is Marco’s advertisement for his baby sitting services. 

It had meant to be a gift for Marco. A book of memories for them to fill together and look back on when they were old and grey. Now, it only contains a single page. A single photo of Marco, smiling back at Jean as if nothing in the world was wrong. 

Marco smiles back at him, with that smile that had changed Jean’s world forever. That smile that follows Jean everywhere, casting a glow that only Marco knew how to cast. 

And when the sun rises up after a long night of endless unrest, all Jean can see, in those bright, golden rays, is Marco smiling back at him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Falling into Bed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147191) by [OpalPenWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalPenWriter/pseuds/OpalPenWriter)
  * [Home Comforts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158952) by [OpalPenWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalPenWriter/pseuds/OpalPenWriter)




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